


The Forgotten

by Elusive_Soul



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Gen, Investigations, Magic, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-05-18 02:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14844116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elusive_Soul/pseuds/Elusive_Soul
Summary: Have you ever wondered what's it like to be an Auror? What mysteries would you be entitled to solve? Clarisse had always wanted to dedicate her life to finding the answers to those questions. Over the years, she got used to all kinds of mysteries, horrors and foolish crimes. She really started to think she had seen it all, but when a series of murders starts to happen, she's forced to face yet another question: how can you explain the unexplainable?*** HP universe, post-war, original characters ***





	1. The Murder

 

    The day was incredibly beautiful. The sun shone bright, casting its rays through the windows of every single building on the street. The birds chirped, as if they wanted to announce that spring was finally here. To everyone else, it probably seemed wonderful, exciting even, considering all the new possibilities it brought – going for long walks, lying on the grass in full sun or simply hanging out with friends outside. To Clarisse, though, spring meant troubles.

   Winter was much more peaceful and quiet. Not in a sense, that the streets were empty. No, Paris qualified as a very busy city, as everyone from around the world wanted to see the famous Eiffel tower or _les Champs-Élysées_. The city could be described as simply breath-taking, even Clarisse had to admit that, despite her usual lack of tenderness required to be entranced with such things as landscapes or architecture.

   Winter usually made people less inclined to do stupid things, such as thinking it would be quite hilarious to turn one’s neighbour’s cat into a teacup. Okay, so maybe that one was a little funny, especially since it was a rather poor example of Transfiguration, because the teacup meowed every single time someone had poured liquid into it. But when the cat died, the case stopped being a simple usage of magic in Muggle neighbourhood and instead, got qualified as an accidental murder, making things much more serious.

  Spring was quite extreme when it came to crimes, not only those seemingly easy and not all that serious. Something about the whole world of nature coming to life made the murderers and serial killers even more determined to turn everyone miserable. Miserable and dead, in many cases.

  As soon as Clarisse opened her eyes and noticed that the grim aura of winter had disappeared, seemingly for good this time, she knew that the chances of her day becoming very unpleasant expanded rapidly and that thought instantly worsened her mood.

  Reluctantly, she got out of bed and stretched her arms above her head, sighing with pleasure when a couple of cracks sounded in the air and her spine started to feel flexible again, just like every other morning. She enjoyed working as an Auror, especially as a part of the Special Assignments Team, that required not only immaculate detective skills, but also a lot of physical fitness. Unfortunately, it had its cost.

  Shower turned out to be more than helpful, as the cold water managed to awake her body completely, clearing her mind from all the negative thoughts. Constant fussiness couldn’t have helped her, after all, as she needed utter focus to do her job correctly.

  Clarisse wrapped her body in a towel and sighed, standing in front of a mirror. A young woman looked back at her with a crooked smile that made her face seem much uglier than it truly was.

  ‘Today's going to be a good day, Riss’, she said to herself, trying to sound  confident, but her efforts turned out to be futile, as the voice coming out of her mouth resembled someone who was about to get sick, rather than someone believing their own words.

   As on cue, a silvery mist appeared in her bathroom, taking a shape of a horse, that glowed with a beautiful light. Clarisse closed her eyes in irritation and waited for the figure to speak.

   ‘Auror Bouchard, you're needed at the crime scene’, the voice of her boss sounded in the air, making her mood even worse. ’ _Cathédrale Notre-Dame_ ’

   Clarisse opened her eyes instantly and looked at the slowly disappearing form of the Patronus. Was her hearing maiming her? Did her boss really want her at the crime scene located in front of the most famous church in the entire city?

   'Bloody hell...', she muttered and leaned against the sink, biting her lip.

   She jinxed it. Maybe if her thoughts weren't so grim and full of negativity, she wouldn't get summoned to a crime bound to be almost impossible to solve. After all, if someone had committed a murder in front of such a famous building, he had to be good. Good or excellent even.

   Clarisse pushed herself away from the sink and grabbed her wand, casting a few drying spells. She had no time to dwell on such things, as with every second, the magical trace on the crime scene deteriorated, making it even harder to find someone responsible. She had to hurry.

***

   ‘Auror Bouchard, thank you for your immediate arrival', her boss, Ludovic Deschamps greeted her with a tight smile that had nothing to do with happiness.

   She could tell by the tension of his jaw muscles that situation was serious and that made her insides clench with anger.

   ‘Auror Deschamps', she greeted him as well and looked around.

   She spotted several people from the Magical Forensic Department, all dressed up as Muggles not to raise any suspicions. The entire place in front of the Cathedral was separated from the crowd that gathered around, trying to get as many information as possible to satisfy their curiosity. Muggle police tried to keep them at bay and did a pretty good job at it, Clarisse had to admit.

   She was surprised, though, at the size of the secluded area, as it was unusually large. She couldn’t spot any signs of struggle, or duelling, which usually required expanded perimeter of a crime scene. Actually, she wasn't able to spot _anything_ out of order,  beside that one lifeless body lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

_This is not good_ , she thought to herself, as she noticed the crimson liquid framing the body in a grotesque way. Usually, magical crimes didn't involve such amounts of blood, as it was hardly the most effective way to kill someone, Muggle or Wizard. It required time for someone to bleed out and in a such place like this one, time probably wasn't something the murderer had. Or at least he shouldn’t have had.

   'Do we know who the victim is?', she asked and moved closer to the body.

   The body definitely belonged to a female, quite a pretty one at that. She probably caught the attention of many men, while she was still alive. Her body didn't seem mutilated though, despite the pool of blood surrounding her frame.

   Clarisse crouched down next to her, narrowing her eyes in search for any wounds that might have been the cause of the extensive bleeding and, as a result, of her death.

   ‘No. Apparently, a Muggle priest found her and went into such a great shock, that he stopped talking for three hours. We had to summon a Mediwitch to help him come around, but when we had finally managed to get a statement out of him, he claimed not to know the victim', Ludovic informed her with a scowl and Clarisse looked up at him with surprise.

   'Are you trying to tell me that it took us three hours to get here?'

   ‘Muggle police thought this was a normal crime. They didn't think it was something for the Special Crimes Investigation Bureau'

   Clarisse rolled her eyes at the full name of their cover office. It wasn't like they could outright tell anyone about the existence of Wizards and magic. It made things quite complicated, as everyone in the Auror Bureau had to be excellent at posing as Muggles, to fool anyone arriving at the crime scenes before them. SCIB’s sole purpose was to make everything easier, as the President of France himself stood behind their organisation, in order to maintain their secret and allow magical folks to work in peace. Nonetheless, Clarisse considered it to be truly ridiculous, as no one could specify what exactly made crimes 'special', so every time they appeared at the scene, policemen started to twitch nervously and exchange scared glances – special usually meant extremely dangerous in their line of business.

   'Are you sure that this is not something for them rather than for us?', she asked, focusing on the body once again.

   Even spotting the wounds turned out be difficult, they were so tiny and clean. From the looks of it, the killer had to use a knife rather than a wand, because of the cuts' precision. Carotid arteries were severed on both sides, explaining the blood loss perfectly. Still, there were much better ways to kill someone. Ones that didn't require usage of Muggle weapons.

   ‘Oh, we're sure. The Forensics say that the knife must have been a magical artefact, as those wounds are basically drowned in magic', her boss crouched down beside her and pointed his finger to one of the wounds. 'The cuts are extremely neat and deep, which must have required quite some strength or a very, very sharp knife. I'd say our suspect is a male, though'

   Clarissa nodded lightly and dropped to her knees, looking at the wounds from even closer distance.

   ‘What about those marks?', she asked and pointed to the slightly darker skin surrounding the wounds.

   Her boss frowned slightly, but didn't answer. Clearly, Forensics must have missed it.

   'I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like those. They don't look like burn marks, but the skin is definitely darker here. Greyish even', she noticed and Deschamps agreed with her quietly.

   Clarisse looked at the other wound and spotted the exact same discolouration. What the hell was that?

   ‘Maybe it's just dirt?', her boss asked, but didn't sound sure of himself.

   Clarisse took out her rubber gloves that all of the Muggles seemed to wear while examining the bodies, probably in order to prevent disrupting evidence and maybe inquiring some kind of disease.

   She put her finger next to the wound and tried to rub the mark off, but it didn't budge.

   ‘Definitely not dirt. You should call back the Forensics. I still don't know how they have managed to miss this’, she muttered, making Ludovic laugh.

   ‘Dead people excite them, no matter how disgusting it seems. Sometimes they forget about doing their job just because of that', he said and then stood up, waving at one of the wizards to come closer.

   Clarisse knew that particular man, as he tried to ask her out on several occasions. Her constant refusals didn't seem to bug him at all, as he kept renewing his offers. His name was Harold, if she recalled correctly.

  ‘Hello, Clarie', he greeted her, making her boss snort in amusement.

   Everyone knew she hated being called ‘Clarie'. She wasn't a little girl anymore and it should have been clear, especially to a man who apparently wanted to date her.

   She didn't bother to answer him, as she nodded her head, not even looking away from the body. Encouraging him in any way was probably the worst thing to do.

   'What can you tell us about those marks?', Ludovic asked in a stern tone, making Harold shift with nervousness.

   Clarisse's boss tended to be strict and extremely intolerant when it came to not doing one’s job correctly, which was probably why he liked working with her so often. She was the epitome of a hard worker, after all.

   ‘What marks?', Harold asked, clearly dumbfounded and Clarisse sighed.

   ‘Those marks that surround the wounds, you idiot', she stated and gestured him to see for himself.

   The man dropped to his knees, blush covering his cheeks as a result of her comment.

   ‘I'm sorry, I-I have no idea how we missed that', he stuttered and took his wand out of the jacket.

   Of course, the wand had been Disillusioned, as not to raise suspicions of Muggle policemen or the crowd that surrounded the entire crime scene. Harold muttered an incantation and then surprise appeared on his face.

   ‘What is it, boy?', Ludovic rumbled, making Harold smile nervously.

   The Forensic casted the spell once again and Clarisse fought the urge to roll her eyes. She absolutely hated working with those people. Their department should have been called ‘Magical Morons Association' rather than anything else, at least in her opinion.

   'Funny thing, sir. It seems that this substance is nothing else, but saliva’

   Clarisse raised her eyebrows in amusement, watching her boss intently. Deschamps wasn’t exactly happy with Harold's assessment of the situation, as his cheeks grew red and lips turned into a narrow line.

   ‘Saliva...', he repeated after the Forensic and clicked his tongue. ‘Do you think I’m dumb?'

   ‘No... Sir?'

   ‘Are you asking me, or answering?'

   ‘I... Answering, of course', Harold said and paled even more, making Clarisse grin inappropriately.

   ‘Then why would you say something so utterly ridiculous? Don't you think we know what saliva looks like?! It’s certainly not grey, is it?’

   Harold waved his wand once again, muttering the spell and rubbed his temples nervously.

   'I'm terribly sorry, sir, but the spell doesn't lie'

   Clarisse frowned when she realised that Harold truly believed in his words. Well, he couldn't have been _that_ incompetent, could he? After all, they were all trained to cast those spells properly even in their sleep. He wouldn’t have botched it three times in a row.

   'How is that possible?', she asked, crossing her arms on her chest.

   Her mind felt completely blank, when it came to finding an answer to her question. She had never seen something quite like it, nor had she heard of it. Judging from her boss' expression, he seemed to share her thoughts on that matter, which made her feel extremely tense.

   'We'll have to run further tests, back at the Ministry. It might be some kind of a disease that made it look that way. Right now, I’m as clueless as you are’, Harold said and smiled apologetically.

   Clarisse couldn't help but smirk, seeing that his eyes started to glint with excitement. Those people and their quirks...

   ‘Fine. Did you find anything on her?', Ludovic asked and received a negative answer right away.

   'Nothing. We don't even know if she was magical'

   ‘Summon us as soon as you'll have some information', her boss said and gestured her to get up.

   Clarisse did just that and looked around once again.

   ‘We should probably talk to the priest', she muttered, trying to locate the man.

   ‘You'll do fine without me. I have something to take care of, at the Ministry', he frowned in response and looked at his watch with irritation. ‘Wrap up the crime scene and then come find me'

   With that, he turned around and left her alone. He rarely did that, especially in crimes so complicated and weird. It seemed unusual, to say the least, but she wasn't one to complain.

   'Harold, where can I find the priest?', she asked the man and a minute later, the thoughts of her boss' weird actions were long forgotten, as she sunk into the world of investigation.


	2. The Team

'So, how was the crime scene?', Jacques asked with a grin on his face, that made her roll her eyes.

She couldn't blame him for being excited, as he was chained to this desk for quite some time now. Ever since the incident with the fireworks that exploded right into his face, leaving him with terrible burns, damaged eyesight and hearing, he had to stick to paper work, as Deschamps wanted to be sure her friend would be fully recovered before he allowed him to get back to field work.

She missed having him as her partner. Even someone so mean and impassive as herself couldn't dislike Jacques, as he continued to infect her with positive energy, which turned out extremely helpful when it came to doing their job.

'Weird, to be honest. We have no idea who the victim is, nor have we any suspects. The cause of death was incredibly uncommon, though...', she said with a frown, while Jacques shifted excitedly.

'What was it?'

'Two cuts on the neck, deep and narrow. There was a lot of blood at the scene. Those freaks from downstairs were so excited that they've almost missed those strange marks around the wounds', Clarisse explained and sighed. 'Harold claimed that it was dried saliva, although I don't know how is that even possible. Whatever it was, it was grey'

'Well, was it human at least?', Jacques asked and frowned. 'And who the hell is Harold?'

Clarisse looked at him with amusement and shrugged.

'We're waiting for the test results. And Harold is that guy from Forensics that keeps asking me out'

'Riss, his name is Herbert', Jacques informed her with a huge grin, making her very confused.

'Is it now? Then why would he react to Harold?'

'Because he fancies you...', her friend rolled his eyes and shook his head with disbelief. 'You should treat people better, my friend'

Oh, that one was probably correct. People didn't deserve having their names messed up by her, simply because Clarisse was too busy to care. She found, though, that her weird system of acquiring new friends worked quite well, at least for her. All of the people who weren't persistent enough to break through those thick walls of indifference that she built around herself clearly weren't worth her efforts.

'Yes, I've heard that one before', she agreed eagerly and looked up towards the ceiling.

One of the coolest things about their office was the enchanted ceiling. She generally disliked foreigners in the department, but that one guy who finished Hogwarts turned out to be quite brilliant. He came up with the idea of enchanting every room's ceiling to look exactly like the one in 'Great Hall', which, apparently, was a place where every student dined during their stay at school. It took a lot of work, but at least everyone could enjoy staring at the sky, while being chained to their desks. Not that it happened all that often to someone like Clarisse.

'What's taking him so long?', she muttered to herself, thinking about her boss.

In response, Jacques sighed in irritation.

'Riss, our boss is a busy man. I told you that he's having an important visit. I don't know what's it all about, but those men that arrived at our department this morning looked very... Well, very British'

Clarisse snorted with amusement. What did it even mean? How could someone look British?

'Did they come here wearing only British flags?', she asked with irony and earned herself a glare.

'Not really, no. But they did wore a look full of superiority', Jacques explained proudly, making her chuckle out loud.

'Wow, now I'm convinced', she laughed and awaited a snarky comment form her friend, which never came.

A familiar Patronus interrupted their conversation, as once again, she got summoned by her boss.

'Finally!', she exclaimed and jumped out of her chair, smiling with satisfaction. 'I guess I'll see you later'

With that, she waved Jacques goodbye and exited their office, following the Patronus, which clearly got the assignment to lead her straight to her boss, wherever that might have been. Clarisse didn't care all that much, but when they've passed his bureau, a frown appeared on her face.

The Patronus led her to the biggest conference room her department owned, which did nothing to diminish her curiosity. Without hesitation, she knocked on the door and entered the room, not waiting for response. As soon as she crossed the threshold, Clarisse looked around, carefully taking in the sight of five man sitting around the wooden, mahogany table. Two of them she recognized without a problem, as it happened to be her boss and one of her colleagues, Antoine Fabré, a brilliant Auror who served as one of her mentors during the Auror training.

The other three she had never seen before. The one sitting the closest to her was also the youngest, as she judged from his looks. He had brown, short hair, that tended to curl at their ends and dark eyes – maybe brown or grey, she couldn't tell from such a distance. His face didn't express any emotions, but that didn't surprise her. Most of the Aurors possessed the abilities to hide their feelings and every person in this room undoubtedly shared the same profession.

The other stranger sitting to his left was older and much more experienced in the field; numerous scars covering his face testified to that. He looked much more pleasant though, as a smile graced his lips, making his blue eyes twinkle lightly.

The last person made her insides twist with excitement. She hadn't known the man personally, but it didn't take a genius to figure out who he was – Harry Potter sat at the same table that she was clearly invited to join, judging by her boss' summon. He didn't look spectacular, which was probably the reason why she didn't recognize him right away, but the scar visible on his forehead left no doubts as to his identity.

Clarisse never excelled at following society rules, but it seemed clear that staring at strangers, no matter how famous they were, wasn't particularly civil, so she averted her gaze to her boss and said:

'Auror Deschamps, you wanted to see me'

'Auror Bouchard, please take a sit'

After seeing Potter, it didn't surprise her that her boss switched to English, as it was highly unlikely that any of the strangers would be able to speak French. Nonetheless, hearing her boss speaking a foreign language made her feel weird, to say the least.

She decided not to dwell on it though and moved forward in order to take a seat opposite of the youngest visitor. After she made herself comfortable, she looked across the table and smirked slightly at the man watching her cautiously. His eyes were definitely brown and not grey like she initially suspected.

'Gentlemen, this is Auror Clarisse Bouchard. I believe I've told you enough about her already', her boss' words made everyone nod at her in a brief greeting and she felt complied to reciprocate their gesture. 'Bouchard, this is Auror Potter', he gestured towards the one man that she recognised.

Potter smiled at her and Clarisse had to admit that he didn't seem all that intimidating, as she would expect from the saviour of the wizarding world.

'This is Auror Ashworth'

This time the scarred man raised his hand in a greeting, smile still visible on his face, only this time it widened slightly.

'And last, but not least, Auror Finley'

The youngest man definitely didn't seem as amiable as the others. He only inclined his head, not tearing his gaze away from her face. Clarisse had a strong feeling that he tried his best to make her uncomfortable, which only proved that he didn't know a single thing about her; she really wasn't the one to get scared away by a mere look.

'Pleasure to meet you all, gentlemen', she stated firmly, smiling airily.

'Likewise, Auror Bouchard', Potter answered, filling the room with a melodic, British accent, that made her body tingle with excitement.

She always had a thing for that particular language, especially if it sounded so beautifully. Clarisse didn't even mind that her last name sounded a bit funny in his mouth. French had to be difficult to foreigners, now that she thought of that.

'To what do I owe this pleasure?', she asked, focusing on her boss again.

She watched as the man stood up slowly and cleared his throat, readying himself to speak.

'Before I explain everything to you... What did you find at the scene after my departure?'

Clarisse raised her brows and skimmed her gaze over everyone at the other side of the table. Her boss provided her with a perfect answer as to why she found herself in the room filled with Englishmen, without even trying to do so. Apparently, their visit to the French Ministry of Magic had something to do with the recent murder. But why would they be interested in that particular case?

'Not much, to be honest. The priest spent most of our talk praying for the soul of the deceased woman. I got a feeling that he tried to deflect our suspicions from him, as he was fully aware of being the closest thing we had to a witness. He arrived at the Notre Dame at dawn, just like he always did, but before he had entered the church, he spotted our unfortunate victim. He checked her vitals, called the ambulance and the police right away', she sighed and looked up towards the ceiling. 'Like I said, he wasn't very helpful. There were no signs of struggle, murder weapon hadn't been found and we still don't have any leads'

Even without looking at the men sitting at the table, she could tell they weren't impressed with her detective work. She wasn't impressed by it as well, but this case proved to be even more difficult than she initially made it out to be. Not even someone with a natural gift for spotting things hidden from the eyes of many others, could solve every single crime. Especially not the crime so mysterious and well-executed.

'Tell us about the wounds', Ashworth spoke, clearly meaning for her to continue her speech.

Clarisse looked at him with a slight surprise, but decided to indulge him and said:

'The victim suffered from two cuts to her neck – narrow, but deep enough to sever the arteries, causing her to bleed out at a rapid pace. Our Forensics Department claims, that those wounds had been inflicted using a magical artefact of some kind, as traces of magic were found inside of them. It was a very neat work, if you're asking me', she stated and furrowed her brows, when the image of those weird marks popped into her head.

Clarisse wasn't sure if bringing this up was a good idea, since they possessed no answers as to what those marks meant and frankly speaking, telling those foreign Aurors that their Forensics claimed that they were made of saliva didn't sit with her well.

'What about the marks?', Auror Finley spoke for the first time and she switched her gaze to him immediately.

His voice seemed harsh, hostile even, which felt quite surprising considering the fact that he didn't know her. Despite her thoughts, she smiled airily and said:

'Since you're aware of their existence, you probably already know everything I can tell you', she said and watched as a smirk appeared on his face. 'Our people are examining them as we speak, but their first opinion was rather... Interesting'

She switched her gaze towards her boss, who nodded at her lightly, urging her to continue. Apparently, he no longer believed this whole thing to be ridiculous. Very interesting, she thought to herself and smirked.

'Apparently, those greyish marks are made out of saliva'

Englishmen exchanged glances, but they didn't seem amused. If she had to describe their expressions, she'd say that they became even more serious.

'This is not good news...', Potter muttered and sighed, while Ashworth nodded grimly.

'Not good news at all'

Clarisse furrowed her brows and bit the insides of her cheek, a very painful habit of hers that occurred only when she was stressed. Something about the tone of Potter's comment made her incredibly disturbed and she didn't like that feeling in the slightest.

'Clarisse...', her boss addressed her by her name, something he did very rarely. 'I'm afraid that this murder will be just the beginning of a series of crimes'

She couldn't say she was surprised. After all, the murder didn't look personal. Usually, those kind of crimes were committed in haste, in passion. This one, however... This one was executed in cold blood, despite the obvious narrow frame of time available. It certainly looked like something that a serial killer might have done. But how did the murderer manage to make his first crime so perfect?

'I figured', she muttered and met Finley's gaze, who looked at her with a frown. 'But that doesn't explain why they are here'

Her boss cleared his throat once again and said:

'It does, in a way. They are here, because those murders had been happening for quite a while now. Only, they've been happening in Great Britain'

Clarisse had to fight the urge to smirk, as the realisation dawned on her. Ah, so that was the reason for Mr Finley's hostility. He wasn't able to catch the murderer on his own territory and now the culprit had fled the country.

She knew though, that saying anything out loud would be considered quite inappropriate and she doubted her boss would approve her behaviour. The woman bit her tongue and tilted her head, waiting for Deschamps to continue.

'What is even more disturbing, is that the most recent murder occurred today'

Okay, so she wasn't expecting to hear that. Even with the ability to Apparate on the spot, it wasn't a common practice to just disappear out of the country after committing a murder. Not even criminals wanted to leave their homeland, believing their skills to be sufficient to let them walk undiscovered.

'Well, that probably wouldn't be the first case, when the murderer fled the scene of the murder, even if it is tad uncommon for the criminals to leave the entire country afterwards', she shrugged, watching for everyone's reactions.

Potter was smiling, like he knew something that she clearly didn't, Ashworth looked quite amused, while Finley continued to frown at her. What was his deal? He wasn't so hostile towards her boss, was he?

'True. But it would be even more unusual for the culprit to be in two places at the same time, wouldn't it?', Ashworth asked and quirked his eyebrow at her.

'Is that what happened?', she said with a dose of uncertainty in her voice, making Ashworth laugh.

'Yes, Auror Bouchard. It would certainly seem so', he nodded after a second and looked towards her boss, who opened his mouth to speak.

'Forensics don't have much, but they estimate the time of death between 4 a.m. and 5 a.m.'

'Which is the exact time frame for our murder', Potter added and Clarisse sighed.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't a coincidence. Not that she hoped for that anyway – apart from the rarity of culprits leaving the country, the fact that not many people, in their right mind or not, could have executed two perfect murders on such short notice happened to be pretty undeniable.

'Huh... That's not very good news indeed', she muttered and earned herself a snort from Auror Finley.

'What a brilliant observation! Do you have more of those up your sleeve?'

Clarisse didn't even flinch at his comment, deciding that her fiery temper could be relieved later, in the training hall, rather than on a meeting like this one. She might have been rude, mean and generally uncaring, but she definitely wasn't stupid, which clearly separated her from Auror Finley.

'Wouldn't you like to know', she stated dryly and averted her gaze.

What a prick, that one. She really hoped that this whole serial killer thing wouldn't turn out to be an international case, because Clarisse highly doubted that she was capable of tolerating Mr Finley on everyday basis.

'Clarisse...', her boss reprimanded her, forcing her to roll her eyes. 'There are much more important things right now. The British Ministry was unable to locate or even identify the culprit, as there was no evidence left behind and the victims weren't connected in any way. Catching the killer should be of uttermost importance'

Of course it bloody should. He didn't have to remind her of that, she wasn't the one acting like a spoilt brat, was she?

'What are you proposing, then?', Clarisse asked despite her anger and watched everyone exchange knowing glances.

Great. Apparently her worst nightmare was about to come true, since all of the men had clearly reached a decision before she had even arrived at the conference room.

'I believe it would be best, if we formed an international team, which goal would be purely to catch the person responsible for all of this', her boss stated and Potter nodded his head with a smile.

'I agree. It's clear that the way we work in our Ministry proved itself to be insufficient. Maybe a different perspective would be in order, especially considering the sudden arrival of our murderer in your country', the War Hero said in a friendly matter, that did nothing to lighten up her mood.

She fully realised that the man was right. It wasn't shameful to ask for help, not in their line of business. Innocent people were dying and this had to be stopped, no matter what. That fact didn't make her urge to moan in despair any lesser, though.

'We would like to form the team consisting of everyone in this room', Ashworth said and smiled at her. 'We've been told that you and Auror Fabré are the best people that the French Ministry can offer'

Finding herself amongst the best of the best was surely a huge compliment, but in this case, it didn't make her exactly happy. Everyone knew she didn't pass as very sociable and working with complete strangers didn't sound appealing. Not to her, anyway.

'I'm honoured, sir', she said, despite her thoughts and smiled at her boss. She then switched to Fabre, who was unusually quiet, but reciprocated her gesture nonetheless.

'You should be, Clarisse. It's a huge opportunity for you and I will be very disappointed if you decide to waste it'

It was a good thing then that she would never decide to do something so stupid. Not willingly anyway, she thought to herself, locking gaze with Finley once again. If anyone was less happy about their newly found team, that bloke would definitely win the competition without any doubts.


	3. The Visit

Clarisse hated Great Britain. She couldn't say that this feeling had been personal, not to the least. She had nothing against its people, nothing against the language and definitely nothing against its history. What she absolutely couldn't stand was the weather.

How could anyone survive in that gloomy, sun-deprived world of never-ending puddles? She had been here for nearly an entire week and already felt almost suicidal. Her hair looked appalling, making her resemble a wet poodle, while her figure seemed terribly disfigured by the necessity of wearing her yellow, vast raincoat. What was even more terrifying than that, was the fact that no one seemed to be bothered by her clothing.

What was wrong with that country? Clarisse didn't seem to be able to find the answer to that particular question and it made her even more miserable; she absolutely hated not knowing something, even if it happened to be so meaningless. She had been fully aware, though, that there were questions better left unanswered.

'Stop whining', Fabré's voice reached her ears, which felt really surprising considering all that noise made by the falling raindrops.

'Whining? I've been quiet for at least an eternity now', she snorted and rolled her eyes at his unamused expression.

'Your thoughts are particularly loud today', the man answered in a tone full of much appreciated irony.

Her temporary partner's sarcasm was what kept her sane these days, since the Englishmen she had met up to this point could be described as  _incredibly stiff._ Or proper, as they liked to call themselves. Apparently all the fun people of Britain moved elsewhere, just to spite her.

'So is the rain'

'Clarisse, for fuck's sake', he sighed, exasperated with her childish behaviour. 'Can we please focus on the job?'

Of course they couldn't. She had no idea whatsoever why they were even  _there_. The murders had already happened and quite some time ago at that. Examining the scenes brought no new evidence and, honestly, no one expected anything else. They had already established that whoever stood behind those crimes made sure not to leave anything behind. Well, anything besides a body, of course.

'It's not like we're going to find something, is it?', she muttered and kneeled down, right beside a particularly large puddle.

The ground seemed to be incredibly uneven in that place, which also happened to be the exact place of the murder, judging be the pictures they had seen.

'Is there a particular spell they use to prevent the crime scenes from being washed away?', she asked and tapped the water with her fingers.

'I presume it's the same spell we use', Fabré answered, lowering himself to her current position. 'It's not like it doesn't rain in France'

Clarisse sighed and looked up towards the grey, cloudy sky. She had to admit, something about this place seemed to go very well with the gloomy weather. The beautiful cathedral towered over the square, once again taking Clarisse's breath away with its raw beauty. It had been completely different from the  _Notre-Dame_ , which sight had she been used to. The Westminster Cathedral was unlike anything she had ever seen before, with its single, incredibly high tower placed on one of the church's sides and its uncommon colouring. She didn't know much about architecture, but this building must have been pretty unique.

A frown appeared on her face, as she kept staring at the cathedral. Suddenly, she knew that her mind was onto something, although she couldn't make a conscious connection in that moment.

'Why here?', she muttered more to herself than to Fabré and earned herself a puzzled glance.

'Why here what?', the man asked, but she chose not to respond, enveloped in her chaotic train of thoughts.

Something about this place simply spoke to her. She couldn't explain it, not in a rational way, but she found that rationality wasn't always needed when it came to this magical world she lived in.

'This is the third crime scene we've been to', she stated in an absent tone and her partner nodded, looking at her intently. 'This is also the third church I had seen during this week'

'I take it has nothing to do with your sudden appreciation for various buildings', Fabré said and she finally switched her gaze to his form.

'No. Up to this point we had just assumed that he picks his spots based on their popularity. We thought he seeks attention, even if that means offending Muggles' religious views, by placing the bodies in front of the churches. But what if there's something more to it?', she mused out loud, causing Antoine to raise his eyebrows in a slight amusement.

'Are you saying that our killer believes in  _God_?'

Clarisse snorted and shook her head. The wizards weren't big on faith, at least not that kind of faith. They believed in magic and all that came with it. Did it involve some kind of mighty creature responsible for all the creation? Not really. She highly doubted that their culprit had different beliefs, but no one could eliminate that option with all the certainty.

'How would I know, huh?', she shrugged and scratched her head, directing her gaze to the church, once more. 'Maybe he does, or maybe it's something entirely different…'

There were many stories pertaining wizards and churches. After all, the Muggles desperately wanted to believe in the existence of some supernatural powers and when those finally happened, they gave credit to  _God_. Clarisse couldn't picture a better place for some cunning wizards to make easy money, than a muggle church. Magic made all those hailed miracles possible and there were people incredibly eager to use that fact to their benefit.

Many of the stories about miracles and relics and all kinds of unexplainable things were complete bollocks, she had been sure of that. But some of them… Denying the fact that the old cathedrals held some power inside their walls would be quite pointless. Years of practising magic inside of them, years of performing various rituals or even years of witnessing millions of prayers turned those places into incredibly powerful artefacts of sorts.

Could it be that the killer worked under that exact assumption? Maybe he didn't crave attention or recognition. Maybe all he wanted was that raw power dwelling inside those stone walls?

'But why?', she muttered to herself, completely forgetting about Fabré's presence. 'And what for?'

'Am I supposed to read your thoughts, Clarisse?', the Auror asked with exasperation, putting an end to her musings. 'I'll admit, it would probably be hilarious most of the time, but I'd rather not to do this. I've heard you have a very  _dirty mind_ '

Clarisse smirked at him and tilted her head, challenging him to hold her gaze. The man had been older than her, but that age difference hadn't been nearly enough to make her refrain from teasing him most of the time. Sure, he happened to be her mentor, but it didn't make him any less  _manly_. Quite the opposite, in fact.

'I also have a very dirty mouth to match it', she finally said, when he refused to let her win their stare contest. 'So I guess reading my thoughts wouldn't be more entertaining than letting me speak'

'Speak then'

She nodded and shared her little theory with him, causing him to frown in a sign of deep reverie. It gave her a couple of seconds to study his handsome face; though and rough around the edges, but attractive nonetheless. Of course, not everyone would agree with her, especially not people who liked that classic, cliché epitome of beauty. Antoine Fabré's face had definitely lacked the symmetry so desired by many women, his jaw was extremely sharp and his lips too thin. His gaze, though… Clarisse had to admit, she had spent way too much time picturing those clear, blue eyes boring deep into her own with a great passion.

Finally, she had to stop with the staring, as his eyes became focused again. He smirked at her and Clarisse knew that he decided her idea hadn't been half bad.

'It does have some sense', Antoine admitted and stood up from his crouched position. 'But only  _some_. I still have no idea what he wanted to gain from accessing that power you mentioned. He certainly didn't need it to perform the killings'

Clarisse nodded and sighed. Merlin, how she hated that case… They were literally trying to grasp smoke. They had no clues and no viable explanation of the killer's intentions. All they had were theories.

'Let's get out of here, shall we?', Clarisse said and stood up as well, smoothing her blasted coat. 'I can't look at myself any longer. Not in that  _thing_ '

Fabre looked at her with amusement, as he raised his brows.

'You do know that you're a witch and can change the colour of that  _thing_?'

'Of course I bloody well know it', she grunted and scowled. 'It's still going to be ugly'

'Buy a new one, then'

'Fuck no. I have no intentions of returning to this country  _ever again_ ', she stated firmly, causing her partner to smile genuinely for the first time that day.

'Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but no one cares for your intentions'

* * *

To say that she was mad, would be an understatement. After all, how could one feel differently in that kind of situation? Not only was she forced to prolong her stay in that wet place, no matter how dirty it sounded, but now she also had to chase Auror Finley like a  _dog_. She understood the necessity of keeping their conversations as secretive as possible, which meant avoiding owls and letters in general, since those were incredibly easy to intercept. But why was she the one who needed to cross the entire country in order to meet up with him?

Even the unique opportunity to see Hogwarts hadn't been enough to coax her into accepting that task without as much as a word of a protest. Maybe if she was to meet with anyone else, things would feel different. But when it came to Auror Finley, nothing worked the way it was supposed to. Something about him  _irked her_. Sure, it might have had something to do with his dislike towards her person, but Clarisse had a strong feeling that it wasn't the only reason behind her reluctance. The fact that he simply  _ordered her_ to appear at Hogwarts did nothing to change that, without any doubts.

Finley had even failed to provide her with the information on how to get there. After all, she hadn't been one of Hogwarts' many students. She hadn't even been British. And yet, he expected her to show up on a whim, just because he couldn't have Apparated himself out of the bloody castle. Why was he even in there to begin with?

'Bloody hate him', she muttered under her breath, as she tried to steady herself after the Apparition.

The world stopped spinning and she found herself looking at a massive castle, which beauty almost took her breath away. She had expected a building similar to the one belonging to the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, but this… This was simply indescribable. She kept staring in awe at the castle's many towers and windows, wondering how many secrets were hidden inside those walls. Even after seeing all those churches, even after living in Paris for such a long time, Hogwarts took her breath away, making her forget about the anger she felt only seconds ago.

'Can I help you, Miss?', she heard someone's voice and spun around immediately.

Apparently, she had failed to notice the village around her in that initial awe she felt. This had to be Hogsmeade, one of the entirely magical places in the Great Britain. Clarisse had to admit, it kind of felt like it. Not only because of the great castle towering over it, but also because of that unique atmosphere that could only mean one thing -magic.

The man standing in front of her looked genuinely interested in her well-being. He was smiling, while his eyes shone with curiosity.

'No, thank you, sir', she answered and returned his smile. 'I'm just passing through'

'Ah, you're a foreigner!', he exclaimed excitedly, completely ignoring her polite decline. 'French, I suppose?'

She nodded, deciding that no harm could be done by confirming her nationality and the man clasped his hands with joy.

'We rarely have visitors from other countries! One could think that the proximity of Hogwarts could change this, huh?', he laughed and extended his palm towards her. 'My name is Corrick Leighton. I work at the Flourish and Blotts, the Hogsmeade branch!'

Was she supposed to know what it meant? Clarisse nodded, deciding that it didn't matter anyway.

'Nice to meet you, Monsieur Leighton. Like I said, I'm just passing through. I need to get to Hogwarts', she said, hoping that the man would quit pulling her into conversation, but apparently her hopes were futile once again.

'Ah, understandable! Allow me to escort you then. The way is quite simple, but the company surely wouldn't hurt!', he said, making Clarisse sigh internally. 'What did you say your name was?'

She didn't. Quite purposefully at that. It became obvious, though, that Mr Leigthon had no intentions of leaving her be, so she decided to humour him.

'Auror Clarisse Bouchard', she said and watched his face lit up in excitement.

'Auror? What does a foreign Auror want with Hogwarts?'

Oh, she wanted absolutely nothing. After all, Finley forced her to come here, but she couldn't tell Corrick that, could she?

'I'm meeting a...  _friend',_ Clarisse answered, trying to keep the scowl away from her face.

'It must be someone important if you decided to visit another country! Your intended, perhaps?', the man laughed, making her nauseous.

'That's a very disturbing idea', she muttered and this time couldn't keep a straight face, as the corners of her mouth twitched, forming into a scowl.

'Someone from the family then?'

Clarisse sighed and shook her head, partially in denial, partially due to the annoyance evoked by the man's nosiness.

'I'm sorry, Sir, but I can't talk about this', she said dryly, wanting to stop all the questions.

'Pardon me, Auror Bouchard! It's just that I don't have the opportunity to meet many strangers. It's rather quiet in here, most of the time'

She sighed once again and nodded stiffly, although she didn't like pretending to understand his nosiness. One thing she really hated about socialising was the constant urge to pry into everyone else's lives that most of the people possessed. Maybe she did too. But she tried to make a point of not following up on it.

'Have you ever been to Hogwarts before?', he asked after a moment of silence and this time, she shook her head.

'I'm French. I had no business being here'

'That's understandable, I presume', he agreed and smiled fondly. 'Although I bet you will regret it, after seeing the school'

'It certainly is impressive', she admitted and looked up, skimming over the castle that got larger and larger by every minute.

Clarisse wished she could have spent the entire way towards the imposing building all by herself, admiring its beauty and focusing on it, rather than on the constant babbling coming out her companion's mouth.

'I must say, the time spent at Hogwarts had been one of the best times in my life. There's no place quite like it in the entire world'

The longing in Corrick's voice managed to catch her attention. Was that how British folks felt about school? Sure, she had fun at Beauxbatons, but she never felt so connected to it, that she  _wished_ she could go back. Her life had been pretty satisfying, after all. She had a brilliant future ahead of her, being smart and incredibly dedicated to learn. Would her thoughts be any different if she ended up in Flourish and Blotts, whatever that was?

'I never felt as connected to magic as I did back there', he smiled sadly and sighed. 'I guess that's the main reason why I chose to work in Hogsmeade rather than in the Diagon Alley'

'You're a Wizard. You're always connected to magic', she pointed out and shrugged. 'This castle may be ancient and powerful, but it's never going to be more magical than someone filled with magic from head to toes'

He looked at her with surprise and then smiled.

'You have a point there'

Of course she had. The castle had been the creation of Wizards and Witches, not the other way around, hadn't it? The magic made it possible, but still... It was the magic wielded by  _people._  Very powerful people, at that.

'You have to admit, though, we don't use that kind of magic anymore. Some of the Founders powers' got lost over time, making us plain, ordinary even. The Battle of Hogwarts only proves my point', Corrick sighed and smiled sadly.

Clarisse frowned, looking at him with sudden interest. Being French certainly did nothing to improve her knowledge about Great Britain's history, but there were things that one could not simply  _not know_. The war against Voldemort had been one of them, obviously. She highly doubted that Harry Potter's name had been a mystery to anyone in the wizarding world, regardless of their nationality. He had defeated Voldemort, one of the greatest Dark Wizards in history, during said battle. But just as everything else in this world, it had its cost. Many people had died, but the biggest damage had been done to the castle itself. It took hundreds of survivors to rebuilt it quickly enough to let the students go back to school and remotely normal lives.

'Originally, it had been built by only four people. They made it from scratch, they adjured their magic inside its walls. This place is unique not only because of hundreds of years of history. There is simply no one who could repeat their achievement. Not anymore'

Sadness in his voice affected even her usually cold heart. She looked up and let her eyes roam over the castle that got bigger and bigger with every passing second. Corrick's words bore some truth to them and admitting that felt incredibly depressing. Even someone as ambitious and driven as herself couldn't compare to the wizards from the old times. But why? Why did the power harnessed by their ancestors with such ease disappear forcing everyone to dwell on memories and hail things that were forever lost?

'Forgive me, Miss Bouchard. I didn't want to sadden you', Corrick's voice pulled her out of her thoughts and she shrugged dismissively.

'I'm not sad. It's just interesting'

The man beside her looked at her intently, but didn't say a word. Clarisse felt surprised, as apparently he decided to stay quiet for the rest of the way, allowing her to think her actions through.

Looking for Finley seemed quite pointless. The castle had been huge and she didn't know a single thing about its layout. She had also no idea why he was even there to begin with. Maybe he just wanted to make her life miserable? She wouldn't be surprised if that had been the case, but she wasn't going to let him succeed at his evil plan.

As soon as they had reached the castle gate, she spun around to face Corrick and smiled at the man genuinely. He turned out to be quite pleasant company, if he kept his mouth shut.

'Thank you for showing me the way. I appreciate it', she offered politely and the man smiled brilliantly in response, clearly satisfied with her words.

'Ah, don't mention it, Miss! The pleasure is all mine!', he answered and extended his hand towards her.

Clarisse grabbed it without hesitation and squeezed firmly, bidding him farewell. A moment later, Corrick Leigthon spun around and walked away, leaving her alone in front of the old, tall gate protecting the entrance to the school grounds. She sighed and took out her wand, concentrating on the happiest memory she had –the day of her graduation from the Auror training, the first day of her dreamed-of life.

' _Expecto Patronum_ ', she murmured and watched as a silver mist sprung out of her wand, slowly taking the form of a beautiful horse.

Warmth spread throughout her body, just as it always did when she conjured her Patronus. Clarisse would never admit it out loud, but it had been one of her favourite spells. Not only because it required to recall the best, happiest memory the caster had, but also because it served as a proof, that no matter how sarcastic, mean and unpleasant she could have been, she still had a long way to go before she became a bad person. Death Eaters weren't able to conjure it, as this spell consisted purely of good energy. Their minds, corrupted by the Dark Arts, void of any happiness, simply weren't able to produce a full-fledged animal form.

Her Patronus formed completely and began prancing around happily, bringing smile to her face.

"Quit the fun, sweetheart. I need you to deliver a message to Auror Finley", she said and watched the mare become still, awaiting orders. "Auror Finley, I'm waiting in front of the castle Gate. Would you be so kind to come here to meet me? I don't fancy the idea of getting lost"

She didn't care for being polite, not to him anyway. Being on his soil forced her to be civil, to respond to his ridiculous request, but it definitely didn't require her to like the man. Clarisse watched as her Patronus pranced towards the castle and she smiled, feeling incredibly grateful to Albus Dumbledore for inventing such a method of communication. It hadn't been known to many people, but the Ministries of Magic all over the Europe made sure to teach their Aurors how to conjure a Patronus. Not only because it came in handy, but also because it served as a wonderful method of eliminating evil people from such a crucial position.

The war changed many things. Voldemort nearly destroyed the world everyone knew and loved even with all its flaws. Great Britain had been all alone in their fight and Clarisse loathed that fact. She knew that her country didn't want to engage in the war merely because it hadn't reached French borders.

'It wasn't our problem', she had heard on multiple occasions and it drove her mad.

How anyone could have thought that Voldemort would simply stop after conquering Britain? She saw no logic in that train of thoughts, as it was clear as day that the man had been completely crazy and obsessed with power. France had always been more liberal when it came to blood status, even with multiple exceptions from that general rule. It seemed like an obvious choice for Voldemort's next goal and the government did nothing to prevent that from happening. Instead of aiding their neighbours in their war, putting an end to everything, they were willing to risk finding themselves all alone in the same fight.

She had been merely a little girl when it all had happened, but growing up helped her realise a couple of things and made her determined to prevent something like that from happening again. From her first day at the Ministry, she was trying everything in her power to make sure that everyone realised their mistake regarding participation in the war. Of course, no one wanted to listen to her, pointing out that she couldn't know anything about those horrific events, as she was a child when they took place, but she refused to give up.

Luckily for her, even French government had to notice the changes initiated by Great Britain. Harry Potter turned out to be much, much more than a war hero, as he fought for opening the borders, for establishing international organisation destined to make the entire wizarding world a better place –place fully equipped to fight such evil, if it were to return. France had no other choice but to adjust to this entirely new plan of managing conflicts and cooperation.

Clarisse might have hated working with Finley, but there was no denying its necessity. Whoever stood behind those horrific crimes they had encountered, the word  _evil_ felt quite accurate to describe him.

She simply had to suck it up and survive, if she wanted to solve this case and prevent something really terrible from happening again. The wizarding world didn't need another psychopath roaming around. Not now, not ever.


	4. The Book

Hogwarts had been incredible. No matter how hard she wanted to stay calm and impassive, she simply couldn’t, when she looked around the corridors and many halls she passed on her way to one of the classrooms. Clarisse felt so taken by the castle, that she almost wished she didn't have to follow Finley's Patronus, which happened to be a stag.

The school year was obviously coming to an end, as she could see students roaming the corridors with piles of books in their hands and anxiety painted all over their faces. She remembered times when her own exams used to suck the life out of her, especially when it came to subjects she truly disliked. Seeing so many young people going through that same stress made her feel extremely old and sentimental, which was something she didn't like even one bit.

Clarisse wondered once again why she got summoned to the castle. Obviously, Finley hadn’t been a student in here and, as far as she knew, he hadn't been a teacher. What was it then? Why was she here?

She stopped abruptly, when the Patronus she had been following disappeared, leaving her in the middle of the corridor with absolutely no clue as to her whereabouts.

‘Are you kidding me?', she muttered quietly and looked up with exasperation.

Clearly, Finley decided that leaving her all alone would be a hilarious joke, only proving his absolute lack of sense of humour. She looked around, searching for a student, who could tell her where she would find that bloody Englishman, but the corridor had been empty.

Should she cast another Patronus? Or maybe she should walk around, making an idiot out of herself? Clarisse ground her teeth and decided that she didn't want to give Finley satisfaction, so she moved forward.

It took her a couple of minutes to find a student –a small girl with bushy hair and big, blue eyes.

‘Hello', she greeted her trying to sound as pleasant as possible, but the girl clearly didn't appreciate her efforts. ‘Do you know where I can find Auror Finley?'

The girl looked at her with surprise and then blushed slightly, making Clarisse frown.

‘Professor Finley is probably in his classroom, Miss', she said in a small voice and bit her lip anxiously. 'Why are you looking for him?'

Clarisse raised her brows and scratched her head with annoyance. _Professor Finley?_ Did the Aurors in Great Britain earn so little that they had to take on different jobs? Why would anyone who, as much as it pained her to admit, had a successful career as an Auror decide to teach teenagers?

‘Miss?', the girl spoke up again, gaining Clarisse's attention.

'Sorry. He asked me to come here. Could you tell me where his classroom is?'

‘Oh. I can take you there! Hogwarts is really complicated and you're clearly not from here'

‘Thank you', Clarisse inclined her head and smiled tightly, as her mind still tried to figure out the reasons behind Finley's professorship.

The girl turned around and gestured her to follow her, which Clarisse did without hesitation.

‘So... _Professor_ Finley, huh?', she asked after a moment of silence and the little student nodded.

'Our previous professor had an accident and we needed someone who could step in for him. Professor Finley agreed'

'What subject does he teach?'

‘The Defence Against the Dark Arts, of course', the girl replied with a smile and Clarisse nodded.

Well, that was kind of predictable. After all, she could hardly think of someone better suited for that position than an Auror. Still, he didn't strike her as a teacher material.

‘Is he any good?', Clarisse asked and watched with a smirk as the girl blushed again.

Ah, so that was the reason for her behaviour. Finley was young, quite attractive and he had that dominative aura about him, that probably impressed teenage girls more than anything.

'He's great, Miss. His knowledge is really impressive and he’s doing a really good job at passing it onto us', the girl said, while her blush kept growing.

'He's also hot, isn't he?', Clarisse asked with irony and fought the urge to chuckle, seeing as the girl tripped over her own legs.

‘Um... He’s a Professor'

Clarisse laughed and shook her head. Oh, yeah. She remembered that time in her life when lusting over Professors seemed completely wrong, immoral even. Sure, the relationship between a student and a teacher wouldn't be a great idea, but it always seemed funny that people were so scared of being called perverts that they didn't want to admit to liking someone's appearance.

‘Sure thing', she said, despite her thoughts and shrugged.

Last thing she wanted was to encourage a teenage girl to explore her crush towards Finley, no matter how bad she wanted to make his life bothersome.

A few minutes and several turns later, the girl stopped in front of a seemingly normal pair of doors. She smiled sheepishly and hugged her books closer.

'We're here, Miss. Can I help you with anything else?'

Clarisse smiled and shook her head.

‘No. But the next time you're going to meet a complete stranger, make sure to gather some information about them, instead of just offering your help. I could have been a murderer for all you know'

The girl blushed again and nodded her head eagerly, albeit with embarrassment. Next thing, she turned around and left Clarisse alone, in front of the door to Finley's classroom.

Without hesitation, she pulled the handle and entered the room as quietly as possible. The door creaked slightly, but the sound got muffled by Finley's voice, so no one noticed her, apart from the Auror himself.

‘Who can tell me something about the Dementors?', he asked, switching his gaze back to the students, completely ignoring Clarisse, who leaned against the doorway.

A couple of students raised their hands, while Finley skimmed the crowd. Finally his eyes stopped at the boy sitting in the middle of the room, who seemed completely uninterested in the lesson.

‘Mr Grayson? Care to enlighten your peers?’, he asked with a slight smirk on his handsome face.

‘No, professor’, the boy answered in an impassive voice and Clarisse couldn’t help but cheer for that cheeky teenager, who apparently didn’t care for Finley as well.

‘Are you telling me you don’t know such a basic thing?’

‘No, I’m telling you I don’t want to _enlighten my peers_ ’

This time, she couldn’t stop herself from snorting in amusement, making everyone turn around with surprised looks painted on their faces. Finley gave her an angry stare, but she couldn’t care less. Especially not, when students started to whisper to each other, completely disrupting Finley’s lesson.

‘Quiet’, the Auror ordered in a stern tone and, to Clarisse’s surprise, everyone listened to him. ‘Can you please wait outside?’, he then spoke to her, trying not to sound extremely unpleasant as it would certainly pique student’s interest more than it should.

‘I don’t think so’, she replied and narrowed her eyes. ‘I’ve always liked this subject’

With that, she pushed herself away from the doorway and sat at the end of the classroom, where she found an empty chair.

‘Hope you don’t mind’, she added and smiled sweetly, making herself comfortable.

‘Not at all’, a stiff reply reached her ears, as Finley’s eyes left her silhouette. ‘Since Mr Grayson _refuses_ to answer my question, what, by the way, just cost Slytherin 5 points, can anyone else share their knowledge?’

Once again, a couple of students raised their hands and this time, Finley picked one of them –a girl with long, blonde hair.

‘Miss Brenley?’

‘A Dementor is a Dark creature, considered to be one of the foulest to inhabit the world. Dementors feed on human happiness and generate feelings of depression and despair in any person in close proximity to them. They can also consume a person's soul, leaving their victims in a permanent vegetative state. It’s called a _Dementor’s kiss_ and even though it doesn’t kill, many believe that it is even worse than death itself’, the girl explained and Clarisse smirked.

Spot on definition, she had to admit that. Still, when it came to the Dark creatures, no definition could have done them justice. The student spoke of the Dementors in a stern tone, lacking any emotion. For her, it was just some knowledge necessary for passing the exams, while Clarisse felt shivers running down her spine, reminiscing those few times when she had been forced to face one of those creatures.

‘Do you know what creates them?’, she asked in a quiet voice, gaining the attention of every student.

Finley looked quite angered by her interruption, but then his expression changed and he gave a slight nod, allowing Clarisse to speak.

‘No, Miss’, the student replied with curiosity filling her voice.

Everyone turned around to have a better vision of Clarisse, as she looked up towards the stone ceiling.

‘Their origins are tied to Azkaban, apparently. You see, that place hadn’t always been a prison. It was a fortress inhibited by a wizard named Ekrizdis. Pretty vile man, if you’re asking me. He spent his days luring Muggle sailors into the fortress and then he tortured them brutally’, she said and looked towards the students, who seemed genuinely disturbed by her tale. ‘Ekrizdis kept doing that for years until he finally died and the Concealment spell he placed on the fortress stopped working, allowing the British Ministry  of Magic to locate it. They sent some people over there and those people came back terrified enough to refuse to talk about anything they had found on the island. The only piece of information they provided, was that the place had been infested with Dementors’

She met Finley’s gaze, who, for the first time since they’ve met, wasn’t looking at her with hostility. Actually, his face bore a curious expression, very similar to the ones on students’ faces.

‘There are many theories regarding their genesis. Some say that Ekrizdis created them as a form of torture for the sailors, as they fed on every single happy memory, inducing despair and insanity in their victims. Some say that no one created them in a conventional way, that they were born out of the Darkest magic, with pain and suffering serving as a catalyst. Either way, they are not just some dark creatures. Dementors are the epitome of everything vile in this world’, she finished with a grim smile, as silence enveloped everyone in the room.

Finley was the one to break the sudden tension in the room as he stood up and cleared his throat, forcing students’ attention to switch once again.

‘Dementors are not to be taken lightly’, he said quietly, looking at his class. ‘Like our guest said, it is extremely hard to find a creature that would be so dangerous. They are much, much more than just a definition and as your teacher, I hope you’re never going to see how true that is’

Clarisse met his gaze and smiled genuinely. Apparently, he wasn’t as stupid as she previously thought. At least not when it came to the Dark Arts.

‘Alright. As a revision assignment, I want you to write an essay on other Dark creatures you know, at least five of them’, professor ordered, while students groaned simultaneously. ‘Class dismissed’

A couple of minutes later, the classroom was nearly empty, leaving Clarisse and Finley alone. The woman stood up from her chair and walked towards the British Auror, who looked at her with a frown.

‘Why am I here?’, she asked without unnecessary lingering. ‘You wanted to simply get me mad or did you have a better reason?’

‘That’s not very nice to barge into someone’s classroom and disrupt the entire lesson’, Finley ignored her question with a smirk on his face, instantly bringing out her anger which managed to lessen over time.

‘You know what’s also _not very nice?_ ’, she mimicked his peculiar accent and clenched her fists. ‘Dragging me here without a single word of explanation and then leaving me in the middle of a gigantic castle that I have never been to before’

Finley crossed his arms over his chest and quirked one eyebrow at her.

‘You’re here, aren’t you? Clearly, it wasn’t that bad’

‘How patient do you think I am?’, Clarisse asked through her teeth and took another step forward. ‘I’m not here on vacation, you know? Your country is hardly the place I’d choose for that’

‘It’s not my country’, he replied at once and smirked. ‘I’m Irish. I thought you’d be able to tell by my accent’

She rolled her eyes at his stupidity and sighed. She was _French_ , for Merlin’s sake. Telling apart all of the accents might have been a very entertaining hobby, but it sure as hell wasn’t a part of her training.

‘Whatever’, she snorted dismissively, completely ignoring his angry stare. ‘Is that why I’m here? You wanted to share your heritage with me?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Or at least don’t be ridiculous in my presence. I have little to no tolerance for that’, he informed her and opened a drawer in his desk, clearly in search for something.

‘Then how do you manage to put up with yourself?’, she muttered, earning herself another angry stare. 

Their conversation seemed to be put on hold, while Finley rummaged through different stuff in his drawer and Clarisse tapped the floor with her foot in annoyance. She really wanted to ask what he was doing, but decided against it, not wanting to give him satisfaction.

Instead, she started to look around the classroom with curiosity. It was nothing like the ones she remembered from Beauxbatons, but Clarisse considered it a good thing. Just as everything in this castle, Finley’s classroom possessed an atmosphere consisting purely of magic. The students, teachers and any other inhabitants of this incredible place probably failed to see it, as they were used to it on daily basis, but Clarisse started to really understand Corrick’s words about that incredible connection to magic one could feel inside those stone walls.

‘Ah, there it is’, Finley’s voice forced her to switch her attention back to him, as he raised his hand with a book in it.

Clarisse frowned and moved towards him, trying to decipher its title, but before she was able to do that, Finley opened it and started to flick the pages at a rapid pace.

‘Um… What exactly are you looking for?’, she finally snapped, not being able to take the suspension anymore and the Irishman smirked with satisfaction, though his gaze never left the pages.

‘You’ll know when I find it’

She didn’t like his attitude very much. That smirk playing on his face made her feel incredibly anxious and weirdly murderous, although she couldn’t say why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that it wasn’t the most _respectful_ expression on Earth or maybe it was something entirely different. She guessed that being summoned to a great castle just so he could show her a _book_ didn’t help the situation at all.

‘Great. It’s not like you had time for that earlier, huh?’, she asked in a mocking tone, causing his smirk to widen considerably.

‘I’m a busy man, Clarisse’, he said, using her first name.

The woman blinked, realising that she had no idea what Finley’s first name was. It was so typical of her to work with someone without even asking such a basic thing. Of course, she had every information regarding his career, his skills and everything else, but a name? Why would she need it?

‘Since when are we on first name basis, Auror Finley?’

‘We’re working together, yeah? No need for that fake politeness’

‘I don’t recall being polite to you, like _ever_ ’, she snorted and he shrugged.

‘I wouldn’t brag about it, Clarisse’

‘Seriously, what’s with the name?’, she sighed and crossed her arms on the chest. ‘I don’t even know yours’

He looked up from the book with a genuinely surprised expression on his face and then he scowled, getting back to his lecture.

‘So you’re not only mean, but also arrogant, huh? Good to know’

‘Said the man who didn’t even have the decency to meet me at the gate, once he _requested_ my presence’, she mocked him once again and then rolled her eyes at his impassive behaviour.

Silence fell between them and Clarisse couldn’t help but get even more anxious. Did he even know what he was looking for? Or maybe he simply wanted to piss her off? It surely seemed to work like a charm.

‘My name’s Aedan’, he finally muttered. ‘And if we are to work together, I suggest you remember it. I’m not the only _Auror Finley_ in Great Britain’

Ah, so that was the reason for his hurt expression once she told him she didn’t even know his name. It made sense, at least in her mind. She was truly glad there was no one in her family that could have endangered her career or make her seem like that spoilt brat, who got everything just because of her parents’ name. Aedan probably had to work twice as hard as anyone else, if he wanted to step outside his father’s shadow. Or his mother’s. She didn’t really know.

‘Fine. At least you have a pretty name’, she rolled her eyes and sighed, seeing his smirk return to his face.

‘Thank you, Clarisse’, he said and then gestured for her to join him at his desk.

She did that without hesitation and looked at the book in his hands, which he lowered generously, so that she could see everything without problems. A frown appeared on her face when she realised that the book had been much older than it seemed, as the text covering its pages looked quite ancient.

‘What is it?’, she muttered and met Aeden’s gaze and he smiled smugly.

‘A book’

She smacked him in the shoulder, not wanting to stand his teasing any longer. He laughed softly and shook his head with amusement.

‘Have anyone told you that you have anger management issues?’

‘Everyone is too scared of me’, she replied sweetly and pointed her finger to the item resting in his hand. ‘What. Is. It?’

‘That’s the thing. I’m not entirely sure. My father brought it home from one of his missions, many, many years ago. He had no idea what is said, but it is quite ancient. I’d say that it is written in ancient Greek, but I’m not sure’, he explained and frowned.

‘Why didn’t you give it to someone who could tell you more about it?’, Clarisse asked and traced her finger over the ink covering the page.

‘Because I had no need for it. I’m keen on history, but there had been much more important things in my life than translating an old book’

That seemed like a valid explanation. Clarisse would be a big, fat liar if she had claimed that putting aside her hobbies never happened when her job called for her. Still, none of this explained his sudden interest in this book right now. And what did she have to do with it?

‘It’s a fascinating story and I appreciate that _bonding time…_ ’, she started with irony. ‘… but I’d really like to know, why am I here?’

Finley sighed and turned a couple of pages and Clarisse opened her mouth in surprise, when she realised that one of the pictures covering the paper had been all too familiar.

‘ _Merde_ …’, she swore in French, not being able to believe her own eyes.

‘I know that word’, Aeden chuckled in response, but she didn’t give a damn at that moment.

Her stare was glued to the picture of a woman, lying on the ground in what seemed like a pool of her own blood. Clarisse had no troubles deciphering the source of the substance, as the woman’s throat had been slit on both sides of her neck, along her carotid arteries. The wounds had been narrow and incredibly neat, taking Clarisse back to that beautiful morning, when she had been summoned to the _Notre-Dame_ Cathedral.

She stopped staring at the lifeless form of the woman and lowered her gaze to the drawing of an encrusted knife. Could that be the exact magical artefact that was used to commit the crimes, according to the French and British Forensic Departments?

‘How the fuck is that even possible?’, she asked and bit her lip.

‘I don’t know. I don’t even know what that means, Clarisse. I mean, what are the chances that the guy we’re looking for had been the previous owner of this book, huh?’

‘I’d say they are freaking gigantic, Aeden’, she snorted and shook her head in disbelief. ‘I doubt that there are multiple copies of it lying around’

‘Aren’t you smart’, he mumbled and sighed, scratching his head. ‘We don’t even know what the books says. Maybe it’s a common knowledge, or at least it was quite some time ago’

‘The phrase _quite some time ago_ doesn’t seem to do it justice’, the woman said and clicked her tongue. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. Common knowledge or not, this is the first real clue we have, so we need to jump on it as soon as possible. Do you know someone who can translate this damned thing?’

Aeden shook his head and scowled, while Clarisse sighed once again.

‘In that case, you need to lend it to me, so I can take it back to France’

‘Do _you_ know someone able to translate it?’

She truly wished she didn’t. After all, it would mean that she had a normal, healthy family without a mother who claimed to be a Seer or something as ridiculous. Her mother’s interest were peculiar to say the least, but, fortunately, they involved travelling the world in search of various, ancient documents. Raising her daughter in _Latin_ didn’t fall under the ‘Mother of the year’ category, but it certainly proved her language skills.

‘Trust me, I do’, she said and smiled so crookedly that Aedan raised his eyebrows with curiosity. ‘I’ll get it done, but I think you should talk to your father about his mission. Anything could be of help’

Finley looked at her with a grumpy expression, as his face became even paler.

‘You clearly hadn’t tried talking to my father’

‘Would be weird if I had, wouldn’t it?’, she grinned in response and shrugged. ‘Your family, your problem’

Clarisse took the book out of his hands and closed it lightly. She took out her wand and casted a protective spell over it and then hid it inside of her robes’ pocket. Before Finley could react, she swirled around and started to walk towards the door. A couple of steps later, a thought made her stop and face the man once again.

‘Why exactly did you summon me here? Why me and not Fabre?’, she asked with a genuine interest. ‘I was under the impression you _really, really_ hated me’

‘It’s nothing personal, Clarisse. I just don’t think women are the right for this job. It can be hell and you are…’, he stopped and clicked his tongue, searching for an accurate word. ‘…quite delicate’

And there she was, thinking that Finley was actually decent. She snatched her wand out of its sheathe and casted a Stunning spell in an instant, watching him fall to the floor with a loud bang.

‘Call me delicate again and I will rip your eyeballs off and stick them up your nose, you sexist jerk’, she informed him in a sweet tone and sheathed her wand once again.

She really _did_ have anger management issues, but at that moment… She was too satisfied to care.


	5. The Darkness

 “Yes, mom, I am fully aware of the fact that I haven't gained any weight. I already told you that I'm required to stay fit,” Clarisse sighed for the hundredth time that evening, feeling incredibly worn out from having to endure her mother's constant babbling.

“Clarie, sweetheart, you can't talk to me like that,” her mother said with a pout that made her look like a little girl. “I’m your mother.”

And people wondered why she absolutely despised being called _Clarie._ As if being forced to hear it from her mother wasn't enough.

“Yes, I know that too. Can we please stop talking about me, my weight and my non-existent love life?” Clarisse muttered and scratched her head with annoyance. “I really need your help, as I've mentioned a couple hundred of times.”

“You really need to work on your manners. I haven't seen you for a month and now you refuse to answer any of my questions!”

“Can't you… I don't know, foretell my answers?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” her mother snorted and gave her an outraged look. “The Inner Eye doesn't work on a whim.”

Clarisse really doubted that it worked in general, but telling that to her mother felt completely pointless, so she simply nodded and smiled apologetically.

“I'm sorry, mom. I know it’s rude of me to come here and refuse to talk to you, but it's really important. My work…”

“… is the only thing that matters, I know that.”

Merlin, how she hated her sometimes. It seemed almost impossible that the woman sitting in front of her, drinking her wine cheerfully had been related to her _at all_. Clarisse didn't even look like her. Her mother had pretty, blonde hair that fell down to her waist in an impressive wave. Her eyes were emerald green and they always seemed to see much more than anyone else's. She was the complete opposite of her daughter, but somehow it managed to elude her mind. Clarisse always had to dress the same way, like the same things and forget the meaning of the _private space_.

Her mother never really understood Clarisse's drive to be an Auror. She claimed that the job hadn't been carved out for a woman with a gift of Seeing. _Too many dead people_ , she usually said and shook her head with worry, while Clarisse tried not to burst into laughter. Eventually, though, her mom had to accept the fact that her little girl had a mind of her own and said mind clearly despised the idea of Clarisse being anything else than an Auror.

“My work matters, because people are _dying._ I have to stop the killer before he takes another life and I need your help to do that,” Riss tried to reason with the woman once again and this time, her mother nodded after rolling her eyes.

For someone so invested in her _spiritual development,_ she surely didn't care that much for other people’s well being.

“Alright. What is it, pumpkin?”

Ignoring the _cute nickname_ her mother used, Clarisse took out the old book from her bag and carefully laid it out for her mother to see.

“One of the Aurors from the Great Britain gave me this, so you could translate it. It appears to be written in Ancient Greek, but I'm not sure,” she explained, trying to find the exact page that Aedan had shown her.

Her mother looked at the book with a weird expression, but didn't say a word, allowing Clarisse to focus on the task. After several seconds, the Auror smiled with satisfaction when she spotted the familiar wounds on the woman's neck and she pushed the book towards her mother.

“That is the chapter I need you to translate. Whatever it says, we are hoping that it will help us find the killer.”

“Why?” her mother whispered and lowered her palm towards the book, but didn't touch it.

“You see those marks on the woman’s neck? I’ve seen them before. Our killer seems to favour that particular way of killing people,” Clarisse explained with her eyes fixed on her mother’s hand, which was shaking lightly just an inch above the page.

“I don’t like this, Clarie,” her mother whispered and closed her eyes for a second, an expression full of agony crossing her face. ”This book is evil, I know it”

Oh, Merlin… Clarisse rolled her eyes with exasperation and sighed. If she had been given a Knut for every single time her mother had said something in that fashion, she probably wouldn’t have to work till the end of her life.

“Yes, mom. It speaks of ways to _murder people_. It’s hardly a goodnight read.”

Suddenly, her mother’s eyes snapped open, forcing Clarisse to take a sharp intake of breath when instead of those emerald green irises all she saw was darkness. It lasted for a second and then disappeared, as her mother withdrew her hand from above the old pages. The Auror blinked a couple of times, trying to determine whether she had just made this up, but the woman sitting across the table looked way too shaken for it to have only been a figment of Clarisse’s imagination.

“Where did you get that?” her mother asked in a trembling tone and stood up rapidly, suddenly searching for something.

“I… I told you. The Auror from the UK gave it to me,” she replied absentmindedly, unable to get a grip on the situation.

“And where did he get it?”

“His father brought this from one of his missions. He’s an Auror too.”

Her mother searched the shelve with desperation, not caring if she destroyed multiple papers lying on top of it. Finally, she grabbed a small key, which Clarisse recognized immediately as the key to the family safe. A frown appeared on her face when she realised that her mother kept something so important almost in plain sight, but she chose not to comment on that, her gaze fixed on the woman’s silhouette.

She watched as the older woman walked briskly towards one of the paintings hanging on the wall, trying to unsheathe her wand from its holster attached to her thigh. A quick flick of her hand later, the painting dispersed into thin air, showing a pair of door encrusted with golden ornaments and jewels.

The safe resembled the ones used by Muggles, but Clarisse knew that it was impenetrable, as opening the lock required a key bound by magic to that exact copy of the safe. No spell would work against it, Clarisse could attest to that after spending several years trying to somehow cheat the mechanism.

Her mother opened the door with shaking hands and took out a small object wrapped in a brown paper, probably to protect it and make it as uninteresting as possible. She had seen that package before, on multiple occasions. Whenever her mother got one of her moods, that consisted mostly of telling everyone that something bad was going to happen, she wore that necklace that was now hidden inside the dull piece of folded paper.

Before Clarisse could have said something, the older woman pushed the package into her hand and then closed her palm over the one belonging to her daughter.

“I want you to take it,” she hissed with force and shook her head. “This book…”

“… is evil,” Clarisse finished the sentence for her and leaned forward, meeting her mother’s gaze. “But why, mom? Why would you think so? Do you know what it says?”

“It’s very dark, Clarie. The magic hidden inside those pages is ancient and powerful. You _have_ to leave it alone.”

“You know I can’t. People are dying!”

“Better them than you!”

With that, the older woman took a few steps back and grabbed her wand once again, pointing it towards the book.

“It would be best if I burnt it down,” she muttered and started to cast a spell, when Clarisse snatched the wand from her hand.

“No! I _need_ it. You cannot simply destroy our lead, just because of some negative feelings!”

“Those are not just feelings, Clarie!” her mother exclaimed and shook her head with clear disappointment. “If only you had opened up your mind, you would know what I mean. But you have always been too stubborn for your own good.”

“Oh, my mind is open! Which is why I won’t let some kind of premonition get in my way of saving innocent lives!”

Clarisse truly hated those moments, when her mother looked at her with regret and disappointment. Sure enough, she had never been a perfect daughter. Hell, she had never been even a _decent_ one, always striving for things that other girls strayed away from. She also had a bad temper - a gift from her father - and it only made her mother resent Clarisse even more.

She never wanted to hurt her mother over and over, but they weren’t cut from the same cloth. No one had ever doubted that. No one, but that one woman standing in front of her with the look of utter disappointment written all over her face.

“Mark my words, sweetheart. One day you’re going to find out how wrong you were. I just hope that it won’t be too late to save yourself,” the woman had finally whispered and her tone made a shiver run up Clarisse’s spine. “I can’t give you what you want. I’m sorry, Clarie.”

With that, she spun around and started walking towards the door leading to the garden. Riss found herself watching her mother’s silhouette with a stunned expression. Never had she seen her mother so disturbed and shaken. They had their fights, a lot of them actually, but they had always worked everything out eventually. They sure as hell didn’t leave the other one in need, no matter how tense things were.

What the hell was wrong with that book? Her gaze laid upon the yellowed pages and a frown appeared on her face. The book looked completely ordinary for something that old. It also couldn’t have been cursed, as Finley would undoubtedly had spotted it. He was an _idiot,_ but not this big. And yet, her mother claimed that it held a very powerful magic within its pages.

This entire situation felt weird. With her family, things rarely got normal, but this… This was something else and Clarisse didn’t know what to think of it. Her mother clearly knew more than she had told her and that knowledge scared her. It scared her to the point where she decided to give away her most treasured trophy from one of her many travels – that necklace lying safely in Clarisse’s hand.

The Auror looked down and opened her palm, carefully unwrapping the piece of jewelry. Seeing that weird black and white stone reminded her of all those times she glanced at it as a little girl, wishing it could belong to her. Not that it was particularly pretty. It had this milky shade of white with multiple black veins crossing its surface in an interesting pattern. Compared to other jewels, though, it wasn’t spectacular. Clarisse remembered her mother calling it a _Merlinite,_ but there was no way of telling whether this had been the real case. Either way, according to the older woman’s musings, it held _a lot_ of power within.

Riss gently caressed its surface and felt a spark of electricity rushing through her entire arm, causing her to nearly drop the necklace. A frown appeared on her face, as she tried to once again come up with an answer to all the questions circling her tired mind. An image of the darkness filling her mothers’ eyes appeared out of nowhere and she clenched her fist with the necklace inside of it.

Clarisse had never wanted to become a younger version of her mom. Actually, the thought scared her to no end. But would it be wrong to indulge the older woman for once and wear that stupid stone? She had no idea what the hell happened today, but if there was even a slight chance that her mother might have been right…

With a loud sigh, she unclasped the necklace and put it around her neck. She felt almost disappointed when nothing happened, but on the other hand, it was only a stone  and stones weren’t exactly dangerous last time she checked.

Her thoughts consisted of pure chaos, making her head ache. Clarisse knew that finding an explanation to her mother’s behaviour had to become one of her priorities, but she still needed to translate that damned book. Finley would undoubtedly kill her if she had failed to do her job. Or worse, he would think that his stupid chauvinistic views had actually been _right_. She couldn’t let that happen.

Sparing one last glance at the garden, Clarisse spun around and exited her family’s house with her mind full of chaos.

 


	6. The Unexplainable

“Can you believe that?” Clarisse asked with clear exasperation, tearing apart another piece of paper containing an answer from one of the Ministerial Translators. “No one in this place speaks Ancient Greek,”, she informed Jacques and he giggled at her annoyance.

“Purely outrageous,” he admitted, albeit solely out of politeness.

Her friend seemed genuinely amused by her frantic behaviour and Clarisse knew that she was being a little ridiculous. But what choice did she have, if the Ministry had no need for people, who could actually help her solve this murder? She could have sworn that the French government had been smarter than that, but apparently, her life in the past few days provided her with nothing but disappointments.

Just when she was about to reach for another note with – probably- another negative answer, a letter whooshed into her office and hit her on the forehead.

“What the hell is that?” she growled angrily, while Jacques tilted his head back with roaring laughter.

Clarisse really wasn’t in the mood for one of his joyous outbursts, so she grabbed the red envelope and ripped it open, before her friend managed to stop her.

“Clarisse, wait!” he exclaimed, his laughter gone in a blink of an eye, but it was too late.

_“You bloody idiot!”_ Finley’s voice roared from the insides of the letter, which had taken the form of a moving mouth.

How the hell did she manage to miss the fact, that she had received a _Howler?_ Was she going blind?

_“Do you have any idea what have you done?! You stunned me and then you left me in my classroom! Empty classroom! I lied on the floor for hours, until a student appeared there to serve a detention! He had to Rennervate me, you bloody wench!”_

Oh, boy. She had never heard someone scream so loud in her entire life and she had heard _a lot_ of different things. Her ears started to hurt after his first sentence, but nothing could have diminished the satisfaction coursing through her entire body. It served him right, that pompous jerk.

_“You humiliated me in front of my students, Bouchard! This was incredibly unprofessional and way beneath a certain level that someone of your position should present!”_

Really? He _dared_ to speak about maintaining a certain level of professionalism, after he had just called _a bloody wench_? Maybe he truly was a blithering idiot.

_“You can be sure that your boss will hear of it. I can’t wait to learn that you had been suspended or even fired. To think that you wanted me to respect you equally… Way to go, Bouchard. You had just proven that you are just like any other stupid chits – driven by emotions, highly irresponsible and plain stupid”_

The satisfaction disappeared out of her body in an instant. Did he really just say all of those things?

“That son of a bitch,” she muttered after the Howler exploded to pieces and the room became quiet once again.

There were no words that could have described the anger she felt. Clarisse almost wanted to go back to Scotland right away and kick his Irish ass, but she stopped herself realising that she would be forced to look at him and that thought felt incredibly repulsive.

“Auror Bouchard,” her boss’ stern voice sounded from behind her and she closed her eyes with exasperation.

Could her day get any worse? Because she started to feel strongly convinced that it simply wasn’t possible.

“Auror Dechamps,” she chirped happily and turned around with a forced smile plastered on her face. “How can I help you today?”

“You could go to my office and explain why I shouldn’t fire you right away.”

Great. A lecture from her boss was all she needed. Reluctantly she got up from her chair and followed Ludovic out of the room, sending a pitiful look in Jacques direction and her friend smiled sympathetically.

After she had exited her own office, she started to wonder whether she should start explaining herself now or later, but the man walking next to her answered that question for her.

“You shouldn’t have stunned Auror Finley,” he said in a grim tone and she sighed with annoyance.

“Fine. I let my emotions get the better of me. But he shouldn’t have said that I’m _delicate_ and unable to do my job properly. He didn’t even bother to greet me at the Gates; he let me roam around Hogwarts completely alone, without any clues as to his whereabouts and he did it only because I am a _woman_ ” she said and gritted her teeth.

Her boss sighed and shook his head. He clearly wasn’t happy with her behaviour, but Clarisse suspected that she was not the only one that made him displeased. Ludovic Deschamps had little to no tolerance for people who acted childish and immature and Aeadan’s behaviour didn’t exactly strike her as responsible.

“You two have to find a way to work things out. I don’t care if you don’t like him, I don’t care if he doesn’t like you. There are far more important things than your _personal feelings_.”

Clarisse nodded and relaxed, realising that it would probably be the end of her reprimand. Her boss had no intentions of firing her and that qualified as great news.

Still, if he didn’t want to fire her, where were they going? And why did he lie in front of Jacques? As on cue, her boss furrowed his brows and said:

“It took them a while, but Forensics claim to have all test results. I don’t know what to expect, but I wanted to keep it quiet for a while. It could be good, judging by the amount of time they needed.”

Clarisse rolled her eyes at that information and smirked. She hated working without any useful information regarding her current case, but the Forensics forced her to do that quite often. She couldn’t deny, though, that once they had finished their analysis, results always proved to be pretty immaculate and incredibly interesting.

“One could think that a serial killer on the loose would make them work faster,” she muttered and her boss agreed quietly.

“I tried to explain that to them, but I was drowned out by all of the scientific babbling coming out of their mouths.”

“Well, let’s just hope that they are going to provide us with something good,” she sighed in response and her boss agreed quietly.

“How are the things going with that book you showed me? Did your mother translate it?”

Clarisse scratched her head with annoyance and clicked her tongue. What was she supposed to say? ‘Oh, here’s the thing… My mother is mad as a hatter and she refused to even touch it?’. It didn’t sound all that good.

“Um… I’m working on it,” she muttered and earned herself a curious glance from Deschamps.

“Clarisse, I hope you know how important it is,” he said cautiously and she rolled her eyes.

No, she had become stupid over the night and forgot how to do her job. Of course, she _knew_. She wouldn’t have spent the entire morning trying to find anyone who could help her with that damned translation.

“Yes, sir,” she replied with a fake smile knowing that sharing her thoughts on that matter wasn’t a good idea, especially after Finley’s Howler.

Deschamps didn’t need another reason to be pissed at her.

“Good. Auror Finley tells me you insisted on taking that book with you, so it wouldn’t be a good thing if you failed to deliver.”

Clarisse looked at him with surprise and furrowed her brows. A smug smile was tugging at her boss’ mouth, making her slightly annoyed. Did he know about that entire situation with Finley before? Why hadn’t he said anything?

“Did he tell you about our little fight?” she asked and Deschamps nodded, raising his eyebrows in genuine amusement.

“He didn’t call it _little_ , but yes. You had really made an impression on him. Not a good one, though.”

“But if you knew, why didn’t you…”

“Because he’s stupid to think that I would have fired you only because you kicked his ass for all the right reasons.”

She couldn’t help but to smile in satisfaction at her boss’ words. It was true, being an Auror hadn’t been the most popular job among women, but no one in the French Auror Bureau dared to undermine her skills or authority. People seemed to accept the fact that she had been great at the job. Sure, she wasn’t as strong as men, but she wielded her wand with such fierceness and precision, that no one wanted to cross her. She hadn’t been as tall and muscular, but it made her agile and fast, turning her into a worthy opponent. Clarisse worked her way up the career ladder with force, not letting anybody doubt her. Did she have to work a lot harder than if she were a man? Probably. Did it bother her? Sometimes. Especially when someone like Finley called her delicate and fragile, despite all the work she had put into becoming great.

“Thank you, Ludo,” she said with a smile, allowing herself a moment of familiarity with her boss, something she hardly ever did.

The man looked pleased with her response and it made Clarisse relax completely. Knowing that her boss appreciated her enough to overlook some of her stunts made all the hard work worth it. She knew that if she decided to ignore his words regarding Finley, he would probably be forced to punish her somehow, but right now he sided with her and that made her relieved.

A comfortable silence settled between them, allowing Clarisse to retreat to her mind full of chaos.    She felt incredibly eager to learn what the Forensics found, although she couldn’t exactly call herself hopeful. The British Department had already investigated several murders and they came up empty handed. Riss knew better than to simply get her hopes up in a situation as bad as this one.

Deciding that thinking about it wasn’t going to lead her to any new information, she shook her head and focused on different matters. How the hell was she going to work with Finley? Professionalism had always been one of her greatest traits and she had never expected to find herself in a situation such as this one.

Clarisse knew that swallowing her own pride will be difficult, but not impossible. She could forgive Aedan for calling her stupid, delicate, irresponsible and driven by emotions. But she really didn’t think she had the strength to endure his looks full of contempt and superiority, just because she happened to be a woman.

Before she could have found a solution, her boss gestured her to walk into an elevator and said quietly:

“Stop thinking about Auror Finley. You two need to talk out your differences, simple as that.”

“How did you know I was thinking about him?” she asked and raised her brows at her boss’ amusement.

“Your face is red and you look like you’re about to vomit.”

“Funny,” she snorted and smiled. “That’s exactly what thinking about him makes me feel.”

Her boss sighed and shook his head tiredly. The elevator door opened and Clarisse stepped outside, finding herself almost face to face with Herbert. Was he the only person working in that Department?

“Hello, Herbert,” she greeted him and managed to smile politely, while the man stopped whatever he was doing to simply stare at her in awe.

“Um… Are you alright?” he finally asked, his face suddenly turning red.

She quirked her brow at him and said:

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You got my name right.”

Well, he had every reason to be surprised at _that_.

“Oh,” she said intelligently and scowled at her own brilliance. “Sorry, I’m terrible with names. I didn’t want to mistake yours.”

Deschamps snorted, clearly not believing a word she said. He wasn’t going to comment on it, though, as he started to look at Herbert expectantly.

“Don’t worry about it!” Herbert exclaimed brightly and clasped his hands together with excitement. “You’re here about that murder, right?”

She nodded along with her boss and the Forensic Expert immediately rushed towards one of the many cabinets in the room. He took out a stash of colourful files and Clarisse frowned at the number of them. What the hell did they find?

“So…” Herbert started, but her boss raised his hand, stopping him.

“We need to wait for Auror Fabré,” he said and looked at his pocket watch. “He’s going to be here any minute now.”

Clarisse wanted to slap herself as she realised that her temporary partner was supposed to get back from the UK today after she had left him there all alone, chasing a new clue that appeared after Finley presented her with the book. Of course, she hadn’t left without saying her goodbyes, but her partner didn’t look extremely happy about her departure.

After several minutes of uncomfortable silence and Herbert’s intense stare fixed at her person, the door to the elevator opened and Antoine Fabré walked into the room, looking as dashingly handsome as always, dressed in his usual sky blue sweater that matched his eyes perfectly and a pair of jeans tight in all the right places. Clarisse wanted to sigh with appreciation, but decided against it, knowing that the basement was hardly the best place for flirting with her superiors.

“Auror Fabré,” Deschamps greeted the newcomer in a stern tone and Fabré inclined his head politely.

“Auror Deschamps. Auror Bouchard,” he said and looked at her with a smirk gracing his face.

Good. That meant he wasn’t mad at her. She smiled back at him and then turned her focus to Herbert, who kept watching her with a worried expression. What was his deal, huh?

“What did you find?” her boss asked, not wasting any more time.

Herbert snapped out of his thoughts and cleared his throat. He started to trace his finger over one of the papers he took from the shelve, while they watched him expectantly. Finally, he sighed and smiled dreamily, making Clarisse furrow her brows. Those people gave her serious creeps sometimes…

“Our results are incredibly fascinating,” he stated and nodded to himself. “We have managed to confirm, that he magical trace found on our crime scene matches those from the Great Britain.”

That wasn’t fascinating _at all_. Clarisse had seen way too many things during her career not to know that there was only one killer. The cuts had been nearly identical, made by those exact same hands. She was sure of it. Everything else would have been coincidental and Clarisse didn’t really believe in such things as coincidences.

“Yes, we already know that,” her boss seemed to share her thoughts on the matter, as he seemed to be incredibly annoyed. “We’re looking for one killer.”

“Well…”, Herbert smiled proudly. “That’s not correct.”

Clarisse narrowed her eyes and felt her muscles tense. Didn’t he just say that the magical trace had been _identical_?

“I’m not sure I follow,” she muttered and the Forensic Expert fidgeted excitedly.

“You see… The magical trace is exactly like the one in previous crimes, but the DNA doesn’t match. Not exactly anyway”

“The what?” she asked and Herbert sighed.

“DNA. Deoxyribonucleic acid.”

“Thanks for clearing that up, mate,” Fabré muttered and Clarisse snorted with amusement.

“Meaning, we need you to explain things a little better,” she added and Herbert scratched his head, trying to find the right words.

“You probably know that we all have magic inside of us. It heals us from all the Muggle diseases and it gives us the abilities they don’t possess. But one thing we have in common is the DNA. It’s a molecule that basically determines who we are. It is, of course, much more complicated than that, but it provides all the information about our bodies, starting from their functions to the way we look. There’s also a theory that in our case, it also determines how much magic we possess,” he explained with excitement and Clarisse found herself deeply interested by the topic, which surprised her greatly. “It’s only a theory, though. No one is able to find the exact sequence responsible for it. I think it’s Untraceable.”

How did he know all these things? She didn’t even understand some of his words and he had already simplified his explanation. Maybe she shouldn’t underestimate those people from the basement, no matter how weird it sounded.

“The thing about the DNA is, that it’s unique for every single person. Some parts of it can be similar or even matching someone else’s, but it only happens when those people are related in some way. And I don’t mean related by marriage, but by blood.”

Clarisse noticed that no one beside her seemed to be interested in that scientific lecture, so she offered Herbert an apologetic smile and said:

“Listen, Herbert. This is incredibly fascinating, but could you by any chance get to the bottom of it?”

“You find that fascinating?” he asked, completely ignoring her polite request and she couldn’t help but notice the excitement glinting in his brown eyes.

She had a feeling that she had just walked into a trap of some sorts, but it was already too late to do anything about it.

“Um… Sure. Very interesting.”

“I could tell you more about it!” he offered and took a step forward. “Over dinner, or coffee?”

Shit. What was she supposed to say now? She couldn’t simply turn him down after she had admitted that his lecture had been quite interesting. Even she wasn’t that bitchy… Fabré laughed quietly and tried to mask it with a cough, but Clarisse had known better than to believe his pathetic attempt. She glared at him for a moment and then smiled at Herbert, hoping that it didn’t look completely forced.

“That sounds alright. But it’s not a date,” she said and Herbert opened his mouth in pure shock.

“Did you just… Did you just…”

“Yes, she agreed,” her boss snapped and rubbed his forehead with annoyance. “Can we just get on with it?”

It took him a while, but Herbert had finally come to his senses, clearing his throat and sporting a rather adorable blush all over his face.

“As I was saying…” he started quietly and looked through his papers, trying to find his words again. “Oh, right! The DNA sample we found on our crime scene matches the ones from the UK. But only partially.”

“Are you trying to say that we have more than one killer on the loose and that they are related by blood?” Fabré asked with doubt lacing his voice and Clarisse couldn’t help but share his attitude.

“Yes. And no.”

“We don’t have all day, boy,” Deschamps growled and tapped his foot against the marbled floor with impatience.

“Well… The magical traces found on various crime scenes are identical and that happens only in rare cases of twins. The DNA, however, rules out that possibility, as it simply isn’t possible for our killers to be twins. Distant relatives perhaps, but nothing more,” Herbert said and smiled proudly.

“I think I’m too stupid for that,” Clarisse whispered to Fabré and he gave her an amused look.

“That date of yours is going to be splendid, Riss,” he answered and she elbowed him in the ribs.

“We already have one riddle to solve. Could you please start making sense?”

Ludovic rubbed his forehead tiredly and Herbert sighed, his pride visibly deflating.

“I have never encountered a case like this one before. We don’t usually check for the DNA, since magic doesn’t lie. The magical trace is as unique as the DNA. If we manage to match it to a person, we simply assume that this is our killer. Having said all that, I am absolutely positive that right now, we are looking for more than one killer and that they are related in some way. Except they share the exact same kind of magic, which points, yet again, to only _one_ killer,” he tried to explain once more and this time, Clarisse managed to follow his chain of thoughts.

“How is that possible, then? What are we dealing with?” she asked with her brows furrowed and Herbert opened his arms in a gesture full of defeat.

“I have no idea. We have searched the Archives, trying to find the answer, but there isn’t one.”

A silence full of tension settled into the room, as everyone tried to get a grasp on things coming out of Herbert’s mouth. Deschamps seemed to be doing the worst job at it, as his face got red and he clearly wanted to strangle Herbert, judging by his clenched fists. The Forensic Expert must have noticed that, as he shifted nervously and swallowed hard.

“This is probably not the best moment to share the rest of our findings with you,” he muttered.

“Speak,” Deschamps ordered harshly, making Herbert flinch.

“Yes. We are kind of… Not sure, whether the DNA is even human,” he stated and shook his head right after. “No, scratch that. The DNA is most certainly not human, but we seem to have problems determining its origins.”

“Meaning what?” Fabre joined the conversation and Herbert offered him a reluctant look.

“Meaning, we have searched the entire database of the Magical Creatures for a matching DNA sample and we came up empty handed. There is no such creature.”

Clarisse opened her mouth in shock and then closed it, realising she must have looked completely dumb. To be honest, she _felt_ completely dumb at that moment. Not only because she had to believe Herbert without actually being able to confirm his words in any way, but also because his answers had left her only with the sense of powerlessness, rather than enlightenment.

“Are you saying that we are looking for more than one killer, both of them being unknown Magical Creatures so intelligent that they had managed to inflict the wounds with an expert precision?” her boss asked quietly, his voice sounding completely depleted of all the energy.

“I cannot rule out that possibility,” Herbert admitted and shrugged. “There is also a chance that the magical trace belongs to your real killer and the saliva comes from the creature. Well, multiple creatures, as the DNA…”

“Yes, we got that part,” Fabré waved his hand dismissively and bit his lip. “The second theory seems more reasonable, but it still doesn’t make it sound any less mysterious and… bonkers.”

Clarisse agreed with him wholeheartedly, as she felt a shiver running down her spine, leaving her with the feeling of uneasiness. Something about this entire case made her feel hopeless and she didn’t like that one bit.

“There is something else you should know.”

Herbert’s voice sounded in the air, making all three Aurors tense visibly. What else was going to make their job even harder?

“Usually, after a Witch or a Wizard dies, the magic inside their bodies slowly dissipates, but the process takes a really long time. If we find victims without even a trace of magic, we consider them Muggles, just as we did in our victim’s case,” he said and laid down his stack of papers, only to pick up a small package resting on top of the nearby table.

To everyone’s surprise, the package contained a wand, maybe ten or eleven inches long. Clarisse felt her heart thump against her chest, when she realised what was going to come out of Herbert’s mouth next.

“We wanted to make sure that the girl wasn’t a part of our world, so we sent her picture to all the wandmakers in Paris. Analise Le Roux confirmed that she had sold that wand to our victim seventeen years ago. The girl’s name was Flavienne Deniel. Her parents had already confirmed her identity. Our victim had most definitely been a witch. And yet, we found no traces of magic in her body.”

“I’m getting sick of that fucking case,” Fabré hissed and clenched his fists. “Why didn’t she have any magic inside her body?”

“We don’t know. According to everything I learned, it’s not even possible.”

Clarisse took a sharp intake of breath, trying to calm her raging heart. She could deal with a lot of things. Death, blood, pain; she got used to all of it, making her think she had found the answers to all the questions that bugged her. But this? How could she find an answer to _that_? How could she explain the unexplainable?

 

 

    


	7. The Meeting

            How the hell did she get here? That question turned out to be even more baffling that she thought it would. Sitting in the small cafeteria should definitely qualify as incredibly pleasant, especially with its cosy interior full of light and flowers. It was truly romantic and girly and… And she hated every inch of it. Why couldn’t he have taken her to a pub? Or even a plain diner? It would have made her feel as though she wasn’t on a freaking _date_.

            Clarisse looked across the table and noticed a slight blush on Herbert’s face. She had to admit, he cleaned up pretty nice. At first, she had troubles recognizing him in that navy blue jacket, matched with a perfectly white shirt and light brown trousers, which made him look incredibly fashionable. Not that she knew a single thing about fashion. The only reason why she had even noticed his choice of clothing was the fact that she decided to wear the exact pair of tight leather trousers she wore to work _every day._ Merlin save her, she even put on a stupid Star Wars shirt, to blend into the crowd of a Muggle district.

            This wasn’t supposed to be a _date_. She had told him that, hadn’t she?

            “You look, um… You look nice. Very nice, yes,” Herbert choked out after several minutes of deafening silence, disturbed only by the sounds of the coffee machine and cluttering dishes.

            “I look exactly like every other day,” she replied and slapped herself mentally.

            If only Jacques could have seen her right now... He would be having such a blast watching that disaster.

            “Yes, but… What I’m trying to say is…” he mumbled incoherently and she sighed, unable to take it anymore.

            “Look. I feel incredibly stupid for coming here dressed like that, but I told you… This wasn’t supposed to be a date.”

            Herbert lowered his gaze to the menu, smiling sadly. She would have to be a complete coldblooded wench not to feel sorry for him. Okay, he worked in the Forensics Department and he gave her creeps sometimes, but she couldn’t say he was a bad guy. He seemed nice and cute in that nerdy, shy way. The only problem was, she hated nerdy and shy. She would have crashed him after a week of dating and he didn’t deserve that.

            “I just hoped that maybe… Maybe I could change your mind, you know,” he finally said in a hushed tone that made her feel even worse. “I know that you don’t want me, I’m not stupid. I just thought that maybe I can _make you_ want me.”

            Clarisse sighed and covered her eyes with her own palm. Why did he even like her? She was mean, arrogant and cold. For Merlin’s sake, she was that kind of person who didn’t even care to remember his _name_ and called him an idiot right to his face.

            “The thing is, I’m not really worth your time, you know?” she finally said and faced him again. “Do you think I would be able to understand your scientific talk? Would your friends like me? Would you introduce me to your mother?”

            Her questions had clearly made him baffled, as he opened his mouth and closed them a second later, not being able to find proper answers.

            “That’s what I thought,” she smirked and sighed, leaning forward. “Don’t waste your time on me. I know that people consider me to be tough, strong, and all kinds of stuff, but when it comes to love and such things… I’m nothing more than a disappointment.”

            “Why would you think so?” Herbert asked after a minute of silence and she snorted with amusement.

            “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a relationship. I mean, a serious one,” she corrected and shrugged. “There’s not many people who can stand me on daily basis.”

            “You seem pretty awesome to me,” he protested, but she only laughed at his comment.

            “Even if I didn’t even bother to remember your name? Because, the truth is, I didn’t even care enough to try.”

            Herbert scowled and she realised that her honesty probably wasn’t the best idea.

            “Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant, Herbert,” she muttered. “I’m not awesome. I’m probably more flawed than anyone realises. And a guy who is able to forgive a girl who constantly mistakes his name doesn’t deserve that.”

            “But if you know about your flaws, why don’t you try to change?”

            “Because I don’t give a shit,” she snorted and shook her head. “Because I refuse to be perfect, just because everyone else seems to strive for it. As much as it is awful, I feel good about myself. I don’t live in a bubble filled with constant need to be appreciated, to be admired. I had some shitty experiences in the past, I have my problems now… But all those things had turned me into the exact person I am right now. And if I have to hide who I really am, just because people will like me more… I’d rather be alone.”

            Her honesty felt almost too weird to be true. Since when did she share such confessions with people she didn’t even like all that much? Maybe something about that adorable innocence forced her to act like a normal, open person for once? Whatever it was, it made her feel slightly anxious, embarrassed even. Clarisse looked away from his silhouette and grabbed her coffee that had gone cold and nasty. Still, she drank it just to avert her attention from Herbert, who kept looking at her in awe, making her even more flustered.

            “For someone who doesn’t give a shit, you really had thought everything through,” he finally managed to say and she almost choked on her coffee.

            “I didn’t have to think it through. I simply know it.”

            An awkward silence filled the air once more and Clarisse shut her eyes with annoyance. What was she thinking? Oh, that’s right. She _wasn’t_. At least not when she had agreed to meet with him, even if she had known better all along. She just had to decide to be _nice,_ just this once. Bloody hell…

            “Jacques gets it, doesn’t he?” Herbert asked and she opened her eyes, facing him with a surprised expression on her face.

            No, scratch that, it wasn’t surprised. It was completely baffled. What did he know about her friendship with Jacques, huh? Did he stalk her?

            “Gets what? That I don’t fancy the idea of sucking up to people? Um, yeah. He’s my partner, he kind of noticed,” she snorted and Herbert smiled with embarrassment.

            Merlin, she was such a bitch sometimes…

            “He gets _you_. All of you.”

            Clarisse opened her mouth and then closed it, feeling quite at loss for words. She could have just pretended she didn’t know what he was on about, but that would be plain stupid, so she decided against it. However, telling Herbert about her friendship with Jacques felt even more ridiculous, so her options were limited to… well, none.

            “He’s my partner,” she finally said and shook her head. “We’ve saved each other’s lives, we’ve bled together. It changes everything.”

            “Is that what it takes to get through to you? If someone is willing to die for you… Is that what makes people worthy of you?”

            Herbert simply smiled gently and then rubbed his forehead with abashment.

            “I don’t know what I was thinking, to be honest. I kind of hoped that maybe I would be able to get through to you… I mean, to the real you. Because it doesn’t matter how much you believe you’re this cold and bitchy person, it’s not true. Your friendship with Jacques proves that,” he said and stood up, never tearing his gaze away from her face. “I really hope you’ll realise that someday, because to be honest… I never liked that strong and tough Clarisse. I liked the one I was seeing underneath that shell.”

            And with that, he left, not even bothering to say proper goodbyes. She felt utterly stupid, sitting in that ridiculous romantic cafeteria all alone with nothing but chaos in her mind. Riss wasn’t lying; she really felt good about herself. But did it mean that Herbert couldn’t have been right?

            Bloody hell, hadn’t she had enough problems already? Now was hardly the time to start questioning her own personality. She had a murder to solve, an impossible one at that. Shouldn’t she focus on that, rather than wasting time on…

            “I can’t believe you agreed to go out with someone like _that_ ,” a voice interrupted her internal musings and she closed her eyes, praying so that it would turn out to be a simple hallucination.

            “Tell me you’re not actually here,” she muttered and opened her eyes when an amused snort came in a reply.

            “That would mean you spend your free time fantasising about me and the idea revolts me.”

            How she hated that bloody git. What was he even doing here? Last time she checked, Paris was an Irishman-free zone, with no such idiots as Aedan Finley to bother her already troubled mind.

            “Oh, trust me. You’d have to look at yourself through my own eyes to understand the true meaning of the word ‘revolting’,” she said and turned her head, only to see that he stood near the bar, leaning on the counter lazily and smirking.

            Right away, she felt the urge to wipe that stupid smile off of his face. Or maybe she could slosh him with that nasty, cold coffee in her mug? Before she could decide, the douchebag opened his mouth and spoke:

            “I’ve heard you’re having troubles translating that book you took away from me right before you stunned me.”

            His vicious tone made her narrow her eyes and she chose to simply ignore him. Maybe he would simply go away if she treated him like a ghost? Except she had actually talked to ghosts sometimes… She also couldn’t treat him like the air, since she actually needed it to survive. Blimey, this was difficult.

            “I’m not having troubles. I just don’t want someone to screw this up,” she finally said with pride lacing her voice, to Finley’s amusement.

            “Oh and here I was, thinking that you knew someone who could do it perfectly,” he said and rubbed his chin with thoughtfulness. “I mean, why else would you simply take the book from me? That would be really weird.”

            She crushed him with a glare and returned to thinking about different ways to hurt him. Maybe she could grab that ridiculous vase standing in front of her and crash it at the top of his head? At least she wouldn’t have to look at that stupid flower inside of it. It would look better in Finley’s hair anyway.

            “I’m working on it, that’s the only thing that should interest you,” she finally muttered and scowled, knowing that hurting the Irishman was not an actual option.

            Her boss would have handed her ass back to her if he knew Riss was even thinking about doing it.

            “I was actually willing to give you more time, but I don’t think it’s possible anymore.”

            Clarisse heard his footsteps nearing her table and she reluctantly looked up to see his silhouette towering over her. She raised her eyebrows expectedly and simply stared, waiting for him to elaborate on his statement. That bloody git just smirked, not wanting to give in so easily, so she sighed with annoyance and said:

            “And why is that?”

            “There’s been another murder, I’m afraid.”

            Her whole body tensed, as she realised that he hadn’t been joking. Actually, his expression went from amused to serious in a blink of an eye and she cursed under her breath, her mood getting even worse than before.

            “Where?”

            To her surprise, Finley stepped to the left and gestured towards one of the huge windows taking up almost the entire surface of one of the walls. She glanced outside and opened her mouth in disbelief. Even from such distance, it wasn’t difficult to spot a lot of Muggle policemen walking around, securing the perimeter of the crime scene and a crowd of people who wanted to find out what had happened.

            “You’re not particularly observant, are you?” the man said and this time, she couldn’t stop herself from clenching her fists, while she stared him down. “One could think that you might have been able to spot a crime scene from such a distance, but it turns out that…”

            “Shut it,” she said, interrupting him before he could have finished his sentence. “I don’t fancy the idea of having to work with a _sexist jerk_ , but I’m not going to throw away my career just because of your stupidity. So instead of pissing me off, let’s get to work, shall we?”

            With that, she stood up and drank the rest of her coffee, leaving some money on the table as a tip for the waitress.

            “Have a nice day,” she said to her and left the cafeteria like a raging storm.

* * *

 

           As soon as she had crossed the street, she started to look around in order to find her boss. To her surprise, Deschamps wasn’t alone as he stood over a body talking to no one else, but Harry Potter. Clarisse couldn’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline shooting through her entire body and decided that there was no time to waste.

            She hurried over to her boss, not even bothering to check if Finley followed her. Honestly, she couldn’t care less for that baboon. With a scowl, she reached her destination and said:

            “Auror Potter, Auror Deschamps.”

            The first one offered her a gentle smile, while her boss looked at her with amusement.

            “I take it your date didn’t go too well, huh?”

            He gestured towards Herbert, who was standing on the other side of the crime scene, talking to Auror Ashworth.

            It certainly seemed as though everyone from their little international team was here. Everyone except from Fabre.

            “Uh, yeah. Where’s Antoine?” she asked, completely dismissing her boss’ question about that feral meeting with the Forensic Expert.

            “Hell if I know,” Ludovic said with annoyance and Clarisse raised her eyebrows with amusement. “I sent for him twenty minutes ago and he’s still…”

            At this moment, Fabre started to make his way through the crowd, looking positively… well, wasted. Riss smiled brilliantly, watching his figure approach them. Even the fact that Finley decided to finally join them couldn’t spoil her suddenly great mood.

            “Auror Potter, Auror Deschamps, Auror Finley,” Antoine greeted everyone apart from her, as he must have noticed her grin full of amusement.

            “Hello, Antoine, nice to see you too. You look dashing today. Mm, and that smell! I almost mistook you for a distillery,” she chirped happily and everyone except for Fabre snorted at her words.

            Clarisse was incredibly surprised that Finley decided to appreciate her little joke as well, but she discarded it as a temporary lack of judgement on his part.

            “Shut up, Riss. Shall I remind you of the last time you came to work completely hungover?” he replied and the woman rolled her eyes.

            “You what?” Deschamps asked in a very angry tone and she was forced to glare at Fabre for getting her in trouble.

            To everyone’s surprise, Harry Potter giggled and the attention switched to him, as he cleared his throat with a slight hue of pink covering his cheeks.

            “I’m sorry, it’s just… Um… You know.”

            Her boss offered the younger Auror a look full of disapproval and shook his head.

            “Why don’t we simply focus on our victim here?”

            Everyone nodded and started to examine the body, but Clarisse couldn’t stop smiling wickedly, as she noticed Fabre’s scrunched up nose. Apparently, dead people didn’t mix well with hangovers.

            “Why wasn’t I invited to the party?” she whispered to him and he gave her an annoyed look.

            “I didn’t want to spoil your date with Herbert,” her colleague said with a vicious smile and Riss stopped smiling almost instantly.

            “It wasn’t a date. I think I have finally managed to scare him off for good.”

            “All it took was one meeting one on one, huh?” the man snorted and smirked. “At least it confirmed my theory that you’re a hag.”

            She stomped on his foot with force, as he groaned out in pain switching everyone’s attention back to them. Clarisse smiled sweetly and gestured towards the body lying in the pool of blood, matching the killer’s modus operandi from his previous murders. 

            “I guess it’s our man again, huh?” she said and everyone nodded grimly.

            “Everything matches. The victim’s young, seemingly healthy. There are no signs of struggle, no bruising… Apart from those two wounds on her neck, there’s nothing wrong with her,” Finley explained and Clarisse snorted.

            “Except from her being dead, that is,” she clarified with a smirk, earning herself a glare from the Irishman and another giggle from Potter.

            “Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Clarisse,” Aedan shook his head with annoyance and she shrugged.

            “No problem, Aedan. I thought you might have needed it.”

            “Will you stop it?!” her boss shouted and rubbed his forehead. “This cooperation was supposed to _help,_ not be a pain in the arse.”

            At that moment, Mark Ashworth decided to join them, smiling widely. To Clarisse’s surprise, he looked right at her and it became clear that his little talk with Herbert couldn’t have been strictly professional.

            “Hello everyone,” he greeted them cheerfully, while Riss’ gaze travelled to Herbert involuntarily.

            The Forensic Expert was staring at her with a sad smile and she realised that from his perspective, her behaviour must have looked completely disrespectful. Their meeting had ended on a rather bad note and here she was, joking around and laughing. Not to mention that technically they were all standing over a dead body. Jokes and light-headedness were quite inappropriate in a situation like this one.  

            “Did you learn anything?” Deschamps asked right away, not caring to reply to Ashworth’s polite greeting.

            “Oh, yes,” the Englishman chuckled in response, his gaze still fixed on Clarisse, to everyone’s amusement.

            Simply great. She had just become an internal joke.

            “I meant the crime, Auror Ashworth,” her boss said in a stern tone, making Clarisse incredibly grateful.

            Not that she would ever admit to that, especially not with Finley standing right next to her and grinning like a baboon.

            “By the looks of it, nothing changed. Herbert confirmed that the killer must have used the exact same knife to cut the victim’s neck and the magical trace is identical to every other crime scene. I don’t think we can learn anything new out here,” he shook his head slowly, as his smile faltered a bit.

            Clarisse looked at the woman on the ground and frowned. Why couldn’t the killer simply make a mistake? It didn’t even have to be big. They had a great team, even something small would have sufficed. She crouched down, staring at those two neat cuts as a nauseating feeling rushed through her body, forcing her to shiver.

            She didn’t even know why she chose to extend her hand towards the wound but as soon as she did, she felt as though someone knocked the breath out of her lungs with a very powerful, evil spell. Clarisse gasped and jerked her hand back, making everyone stare at her with baffled expressions.

            “What is it, Riss?” Fabre asked and lowered himself to her position, trying to find a source of her sudden reaction.

            “I… I don’t know,” she said in response and frowned, not being able to stop the nauseous feeling still coursing through her body.

             “I just got a bad feeling, is all,” she mumbled more to herself, than everyone else and it made them even more suspicious.

            Clarisse stood up rapidly and drew in a deep breath as the nauseating feeling finally left her body. She took a step back from the victim and frowned, not being able to find even one explanation for anything that happened in those last couple of minutes.

            Suddenly, a memory of her mother’s dark eyes appeared in her mind and she shivered, as her hand travelled to the Merlinite resting safely between her breasts. She had never been one to act all crazy and psychic, but … Clarisse had a suspicion that she just learned what her mother had been talking about. And she didn’t like it one bit.

                         


	8. The Nightmare

Clarisse squinted hard, trying to see anything in her surroundings, but it turned out to be completely impossible. A thick mist floated in the air, making her feel as though she was submerged in a milky cloud of smoke. She lifted her hand and waved it back and forth, wanting to clear the air, but her tactics brought no results and she sighed with annoyance.

Frowning, she took a step forward only to see that nothing seemed to change, even if the mist started swirling around her in various patterns.

"Hello?" she called out, but no one answered.

How could they, if her voice came out in nothing, but a mere whisper? She tried again, this time taking a deep breath beforehand. As the shout escaped her mouth, it got sucked into the void, just like her previous call.

What was this place? How did she get here? And, most importantly, how could she get out? Those questions appeared in her fuzzy mind at once and she decided that standing in one place wasn't going to provide her with any answers. Slowly, Clarisse placed one foot in front of the other, moving forward at a leisurely pace.

It took a couple of minutes of a steady march to determine that the surface underneath her feet resembled cobblestones, but it was the only information she managed to obtain. She still had no clues as to her whereabouts and she started to worry. The mist refused to thin or, even better, to disperse completely, showing her the way to... well, somewhere. Was she even moving forward?

Just like that, an image of her wand popped into her mind and she started to search her pockets. A couple of seconds later, she came up empty handed, as her precious wand was nowhere to be seen. Clarisse's frown deepened, as she realised that apparently she had managed to walk out of her house without the most important object a witch could ever possess.

"How did that happen?" she muttered to no one in particular and stopped as a sudden chill ran through her body.

The mist seemed to shift more intensely, although she had stopped moving completely, simply watching that unusual phenomenon. It spiralled around her, hugging her body so closely, that Clarisse could almost feel the slight pressure tickling her skin, like the most delicate feather.

Just like that, it started to float towards the sky, revealing more and more of her surroundings and she couldn't do anything else, but stare in pure shock at five different cathedrals towering over her tiny person. She recognized each of these buildings, as she had spent a proper amount of time staring at them in the pictures or during inspections of the crime scenes.

She had found herself right in the middle of an empty courtyard, with not a soul to be seen. Clarisse turned around and noticed that the path, which led her to this square had disappeared, its place taken by one of the churches.

"What on Earth..." she whispered and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, as she felt tiny droplets of sweat starting to gather on her skin.

Was she scared?  _Should_ she be scared? Before she could have answered either of these questions, all of the doors opened at once, startling her with their squeaky noises and loud shuffling. Her heart started to race inside of her chest, as she spun around, noticing five shadowy figures that emerged from the insides of each church, staring at her with their hollow eyes. They were perfectly visible and yet, she found herself unable to make out their faces.

Suddenly, that familiar wave of nausea hit her body and she dropped to her knees, struggling to drew in another breath. She was suffocating, although nothing seemed to be out of order. The figures started to move towards her and the feeling intensified, leaving her dizzy and unable to fight for her consciousness. Her vision grew darker and darker, until...

"Clarisse!" a loud yell forced her to open her eyes and jump to her feet immediately, breathing as though she had just run a marathon.

She looked around, grasping her wand with her trembling hand, but when she had finally spotted Jacques who stood near the door to her bedroom, she realised that she must have been dreaming. The relief washing over her body was so great, that Clarisse wasn't able to keep a straight face and allowed herself to fall down to her bed and let out a trembling breath.

Jacques' footsteps sounded in the room, as he decided to come near her and make sure she was okay, but he clearly hesitated as soon as he had reached her bed. After a moment of stillness, he lowered himself onto the mattress, putting his warm hand on her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly and she had no troubles spotting worry in his voice.

"I'm fine," she said and forced herself to face him. "It was just a dream."

"One helluva dream, if you're asking me."

"It was..." she started and furrowed her brows as no words seemed fitting to describe the scene she had just witnessed. "I have no idea what it was."

"Since when are you having nightmares?"

Jacques' question made her scowl in response, but her friend wasn't going to let her simply ignore him. He looked at her expectantly and Clarisse felt obliged to offer him a proper answer.

"Few days, I guess. Ever since I returned from that last crime scene."

Of course, she hadn't told anyone about her unusual sensations, but Jacques knew her well enough to figure out that something must have gone wrong. His visit to her modest household proved it.

"Why are you here?" she asked with a frown and he sighed.

"You took a day off, Clarisse," he said. "You never take a day off."

She scowled, knowing that her friend was completely right. She loved her work way too much to even feel the need to escape it from time to time. Unfortunately, even such a workaholic as herself couldn't go days without sleep and the nightmares that were plaguing her made it impossible to get a decent rest.

"I'm just tired. It happens sometimes, right?" she shrugged noncommittally and Jacques shook his head.

"Don't give me that shit. You better start talking, or I will have to force the truth out of you," he said and Clarisse realised that there was simply no way for her to get out of this situation.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes, trying to get them to stop stinging from the lack of sleep, but her effort turned out to be futile.

"Um... You see, I kind of lied when I have told you that my mother wasn't able to translate the book," she started and Jacques gritted his teeth, his usually cheerful face turning completely serious. "She just refused to translate it. Said the book was evil and that I should drop the case altogether."

"Clarisse..." her friend sighed with exasperation and she shrugged once more.

"You know my mother. She's as crazy as they get. But... Something happened when she was about to touch the book. Her eyes went completely black for a moment and then the darkness disappeared. My mother freaked out and told me to drop the case. But not before she gave me this."

Clarisse reached for the necklace hidden underneath her shirt and felt her fingers touch its cool surface. The Merlinite rested between her breasts most of the time, but it never got warm, almost as if it sucked out all of the positive energy out of her body. She pretended not to notice that peculiar fact, but it got harder and harder, the more she stared at it.

The stone looked exactly like every other day; its white surface was covered with many black veins that created an interesting pattern. It didn't shine, it wasn't particularly pretty; and yet her eyes were drawn to it every single time. That necklace gave her creeps, to say the least.

"A necklace? Since when are you wearing jewellery?" Jacques asked with his brows furrowed and Clarisse scowled.

"I don't know. I guess I thought that... If there was even a slight chance of my mother being right, it wouldn't be a bad idea to protect myself."

"Why haven't you said anything?"

"Because it's stupid, that's why!" she exclaimed and shook her head. "I'm Clarisse Bouchard, for fuck's sake, I don't believe in such bullshit!"

"Then why are you wearing it?"

She fell silent and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs and staring at the floor with fury. He had an excellent point, not that it surprised her. Jacques had always been able to sense her feelings and doubts. She didn't even know why, but their friendship was that one relationship in her entire life that seemed natural. They had always understood each other, without even trying to do so.

It didn't surprise her that he was able to tell that she wasn't making any sense. Still, it didn't mean she had to  _like it_.

"You don't know what it was like..." she muttered and forced herself to dive into her memories once more. "You know it's hard to scare me, but that... That was pretty scary, alright?"

"Alright."

His soft reply made her feel tad better, but even still, embarrassment kept flowing through her body in steady waves. She forced herself to look up, only to meet his own gaze that was filled with nothing, but worry. He had no intentions of mocking her, or even undermine her story. He accepted it, just as he always did.

"I started wearing it and I kind of forgot that it was even there. Everything was fine, until that last murder."

"What happened in there?"

"I crouched down next to the body and suddenly I felt that nauseating feeling wash over my entire body. It was almost as if something evil has hit me, making me unable to breathe," she muttered, averting her gaze, as goose bumps prickled her skin. "Ever since that day, I'm having troubles sleeping."

Jacques stared at her for a moment and reached towards her face, tilting her chin so that she faced him. His warm, brown eyes captured her own and she felt all of her defences go down instantly.

"These nightmares... They are always the same. Sometimes I manage to wake myself up and sometimes..." her voice broke, as she remembered that feeling of being suffocated by an invisible force.

"Do you want to show me?" her friend whispered and she nodded after a moment of hesitation.

He smiled gently and allowed her to turn around, so that she was facing him entirely. Jacques cupped her face in both of his hands and muttered an incantation, slowly slithering into her mind. She closed her eyes and focused her attention on finding the memory of her dream, which turned out incredibly easy. Her whole body tensed, when she had found herself in a familiar scene. Honestly, she could have simply talked him through her nightmares, as she had gotten to know them as well as her own name. Still, it was easier to simply let him see for himself, hoping that maybe he would be able to spot something that escaped her attention.

It took a couple of minutes for him to relieve the entire dream and as soon as he got near to that part, where she dropped down to her knees, struggling to catch a breath, Clarisse pushed him out of her mind, not wanting him to watch her powerlessness. She opened her eyes and looked straight into his brown irises.

"What the hell..." he muttered after a moment, trying to even his own breathing.

She smiled crookedly, understanding his reaction completely. Every nightmare left her with that exact feeling of utter misapprehension she was now seeing all over his face. It made her feel a little better, but... Not by much.

Silence enveloped the entire room, as both of them got sucked into their minds, trying to come up with a plausible explanation to this story. Clarisse doubted that Jacques would be able to shed some new light on it, but either way, she let him come to that exact conclusion on his own.

Riss looked at him and bit the inside of her cheek. It was weird seeing him all serious, after getting used to staring at his smile for the most part of each day. His sunny disposition posed such a strong contradiction to her usual demeanour, that she often wondered how the hell did they manage to become such good friends.

She remembered their first meeting as it was yesterday. Not that it was spectacular in any way. It was just hard to forget her first day at the Bureau after she had finished her Auror Training. She had felt so empowered back then, so invincible... Jacques was the one, who made her realise that she had found herself at the bottom of the food chain. Everyone kept treating her like a secretary and he was the only one who refused to do that. That single fact said a lot about his personality. Always smiling, always cheerful, always... Always there for her.

Clarisse averted her gaze, as she felt heat crawling up her cheeks. She bloody hated him sometimes, as he was probably the only person in the entire world who could make her think such things, turning her into a blushing mess. She would never admit it out loud, but Herbert was right when he said that she was different with Jacques. She didn't like it, but there was no denying that fact, at least not within the safe walls of her mind.

"Riss..." Jacques spoke, forcing her to look back at him, hoping that her blush had already subsided. "I think you should talk to your mother."

Oh, hell no! There was no way she could simply go to her house and admit to being  _wrong_. Her mother would probably never stop gloating. Clarisse could almost hear her satisfied voice, cooing that her daughter was a Seer, or something equally ridiculous.

"Jacques, I know I'm sleep deprived, but I think I would have to be half-dead to agree to something like that," she informed him and he rolled his eyes in response.

"You're going to be half-dead sooner rather than later, Riss. Your body needs sleep and you're not going to get much, if you keep having these nightmares. You need answers, Riss."

"Yeah, I do. Trust me, though, my mother is the worst person to answer  _any_ questions. She keeps talking in riddles, thinking that everyone understands her just fine, while she's not making any sense at all most of the time," she shook her head and Jacques smiled with amusement.

"You can be just like her, Clarisse," he said and she frowned. "When you dive into your own thoughts, trying to solve a case, you keep muttering to yourself and talking nonsense that leaves everyone completely clueless."

"That's not even remotely similar," she protested, but Jacques just kept smiling knowingly. "I have a very complicated thought process, while she's just... You know."

She waved her hand dismissively, but it did nothing to convince him.

"Why are you so afraid to talk to her?"

Okay, so now he was simply making things up. Clarisse's mother might have been completely bonkers, but she wasn't exactly scary. Besides, she was her  _mother_. There wasn't even a small chance that she would hurt her own daughter.

"I'm not afraid, Jacques. You can't suggest that my mother is dangerous, can you?"

"That's not what I mean. I've met Eugenia and she's a charming woman, hardly aggressive. To be honest, you're much more unstable than her. You have serious anger management issues," he said and grinned at her, while she clenched her fists in anger.

Did he really have to bring that up? Wasn't she feeling terrible enough?

"My anger management issues are the consequence of having to deal with idiots on daily basis."

"Thank you, sweetheart. From your mouth, it's almost a compliment," he rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. "You know what I meant, Clarisse, don't act dumb."

Okay, so maybe she  _did_ know. She had already gone through every explanation that was based solely on logic and well... They didn't seem all that likely. Her mother would undoubtedly provide her with something more fitting, but Clarisse didn't really know if she wanted to hear any of it.

"I can't, Jacques," she finally said and looked down to her hands. "I've spent my entire life trying to convince her that she was wrong about me. I'm not a Seer, or whatever she wants me to be. I can't just walk up to her and admit that I'm not... Not normal."

"Clarisse, I have known you for quite some time now and I have never thought that you're  _normal_. It takes one extraordinary person to be a part of an international team at the age of 25, you know," he smiled and lifted her chin, so that she was looking at him yet again. "You're nothing but special. Maybe it's time you've embraced every part of it?"

Just the mere thought of that made her heart race. She was an Auror, for Merlin's sake. A great Auror, who walked the Earth with confidence and a very defined set of rules and beliefs. Her entire life had been a struggle between finding peace with her mother and doing what she had always wanted to do. She had made a choice a long time ago and she had never regretted it, not even for a minute. How was she supposed to change it now, after such a long time?

"It's going to be alright, Clarisse." Jacques' silent voice reached her ears, forcing her to come back to reality.

He stared at her with a gentle smile, which somehow got her feeling incredibly timid. Something about his eyes seemed different. Maybe she was just seeing things? Maybe her sleep deprived mind was just playing tricks on her?

"You're not your mother. Even if she is right, you're not going to suddenly become a different person. Merlin knows that there's not a thing that could force you to change."

Suddenly, his gaze dropped down to her lips and she stopped breathing, not knowing what do to. Clarisse had been in that situation before, maybe not with Jacques, but with many others. She had always let those man kiss her, not caring enough to try and stop them, but now... He was her friend. Her  _best friend_. Why was he trying to spoil everything?

Or maybe he wasn't trying to do so? Maybe it was the right thing to do? Herbert had said it after all, Jacques  _got her_. If there was even a slight chance for her to be in a normal relationship, he was probably her best shot at it. He didn't want to change her, he accepted every part of her, even if that meant having to endure her constant whining and bitching about bullshit.

Before she could have decided, he cleared his throat and averted his gaze with a slight frown gracing his handsome face. Clarisse let out a shaky breath, trying to determine whether she was more relieved or disappointed.

"Talk to her, Riss. You can't avoid your fears forever. Just face them and maybe you'll like the outcome more than you think," he said, his voice not betraying any signs of the tension that was tainting the air just a minute ago.

"Fine," she managed to say and offered him a tight smile.

He ruffled her hair and stood up, preparing himself to leave her room.

"Oh, I almost forgot! I think I've found someone who can translate that book of yours. He's willing to come to Paris to have a look at it."

Clarisse stifled in her surprise at the fact, that Jacques took care of one of her nightmares and said:

"Where did you find him?"

"In the UK, actually. He works at one of the bookstores. Blourish and Flotts? No, wait..."

"Flourish and Blotts," she offered and frowned, when an unexpected thought popped into her head. "Did he say what his name was?"

"Of course. His name is Corrick Leighton."

Clarisse blinked a couple of times and then chuckled with amusement.

"You've got to be kidding me..."

"Do you know him?"

Riss scratched her head and sighed.

"You could say that. We've met when I was in England."

"Oh!" Jacques exclaimed and grinned at her. "Look at how small the world can be!"

"Um, yeah... Out of all the people on Earth, the one person who is able to translate that book is also the biggest blabber I know," Clarisse moaned in despair, while Jacques looked at her with sheer amusement.

"Clarie... I don't think he can beat you in that matter."

"You know nothing, Jacques Colbert," she replied and nodded her head reassuringly. "Absolutely nothing."


	9. The Insomnia

The room was filled with an awkward silence, disturbed only by the sound of her fingers tapping against a mahogany table. Clarisse didn't even know why was everyone forced to be here, but the tension filling the air made her feel as though she got stuck in a tiny can with a bunch of stinky fish. She knew that translating the book had been crucial, but she was more than prepared to deal with it on her own. In  _private._

There was no way of telling if Mr Corrick Leighton would be able to translate the damned book on the spot, which made her doubts even more serious. What if translating it would require a bunch of other ancient books, which the French Ministry  _obviously_ didn't possess? She could see  _literally_ no point in awaiting Leighton's arrival in that stuffy conference room, with Aedan's annoyed gaze fixed on her, with Mark's broad smile mocking her irritation and with Harry's chocolate frogs jumping around. Her boss didn't make things any better, as he kept muttering to himself from time to time, gracing all of them with annoyed glances, followed by even more muttering. Fabre was nowhere to be seen, yet again, but this time he had a very good reason. Apparently, France had more than one killer on the loose.

"Could you please stop doing that?!" Finley spat angrily, looking at her drumming fingers and Clarisse smirked.

"No," she replied and kept tapping her fingernails against the smooth surface of the table.

"Do you want me to  _stun you_?"

"No, I want you to shut up." Her voice was sweet and innocent, but it didn't seem to fool anyone.

"One more word and both of you are going to be stunned," Deschamps growled and looked towards Potter, who seemed genuinely amused by everything that was happening in the room. "Auror Potter certainly agrees with me."

Harry looked around and cleared his throat, his smile gone in a blink of an eye.

"Oh, absolutely. It's very immature. You should stop with all the bickering, it's not helping our case at all."

Clarisse stopped drumming her finger, leaning on her elbow instead. Her gaze was fixed on Potter, while her mind tried to get a hold of his words. That man... He was nothing like she expected him to be and it made her even more curious about his actual skills. If she hadn't known any better, she'd say that Harry Potter was clumsy, awkward and well... quite adorable in his shyness. Was he even real? How did he manage to defeat Voldemort acting like  _that_?

"Did you seriously kill Voldemort?" she blurted out before she could stop herself and her boss covered his eyes with his palm, clearly distraught by her stupid question.

"Um... yes?" Harry's reply came in a question and Clarisse frowned.

"How? Did you poison him with a chocolate frog?"

Okay, sleep deprivation really wasn't a good thing. She couldn't even tell why the hell would she ask something that ridiculous, but there was no going back, even after she realised how stupid she sounded.

"No, I kind of duelled him and won," Potter said, blushing a bit.

How old was he? Ten?

"That's very impressive," she said and her gaze flicked to one of the chocolate frogs lying on the table. "Can I have one of those?"

Harry nodded, looking at her with amusement, while Mark giggled lightly. Why were they laughing at her? Potter ate a bunch of those sweets and no one had a problem with that. She shrugged it off and captured one of the frogs.

"Blimey, that's good," she muttered with her mouth full and Aedan snorted, clearly disgusted. "And your problem is...?"

"Clarisse!" her boss growled and she glanced at him with raised brows. "Are you drunk?!"

She blinked a couple of times and looked at the package with another frog inside.

"Why? Are they  _spiked?_ "

As soon as she closed her mouth, her boss stood up and took out his wand, waving it in her direction a couple of times. She frowned, not knowing what to do. Was she supposed to defend herself?

"Clarisse..." Ludovic's moan sounded in to room, as he sat down with disbelief shining in his eyes. "When was the last time you slept?" he asked and she bit the inside of her cheek.

Oh, so he was  _diagnosing_ her. That was a relief.

"Today," she lied with a smile and he sent her an angry look. "Or was it yesterday?"

Deschamps kept glaring at her, making her realise that she won't lie her way out of this.

"Fine. I don't really know. I think I developed some kind of insomnia."

"You think?" Aedan asked, surprising her with his unusually worried tone. "Why didn't you go to the hospital?"

Clarisse scowled and opened another frog, stuffing her mouth with it, before it was able to escape its package. She hoped that her temporary inability to speak would shift everyone's attention elsewhere, but it turned out that her fuzzy mind was wrong once again.

What was she supposed to say? She was having unexplainable nightmares every time she closed her eyes and even the Sleeping Draught didn't help. The Mediwizards would simply call her crazy, and what was even worse, they would tell her  _mother_.

"I'm fine, really," she shrugged and everyone sighed simultaneously.

"No, you're not," Potter said quietly and looked at her with worry in his emerald green eyes. Were they always so  _pretty?_  "I know what's it like... I had a fair share of insomniac nights in my life. You're anything but fine."

His voice sounded completely different from his usual cheerful tone. For the first time since she had met him, she started to understand that he really was  _that_ war hero. Maybe Clarisse wasn't able to pretend to be happy and positive all the time, but she worked with Jacques on daily basis. He was her source of good energy, keeping her sane. Maybe Potter simply decided to be that source for everyone else? Maybe he wanted people to associate him with someone bright and cheerful, even if a little weird, rather than with a scarred war hero?

"You should go home," Ashworth agreed and smiled gently. "Watching you is quite amusing, I admit, but you're not going to be very helpful in that state. I can go with you if you'd like," he offered and Clarisse looked down to her fingers, which were now covered in chocolate.

She didn't want to go home. It meant nothing else but lying in her bed, praying not to fall asleep, as those terrifying scenes kept playing over and over in her tired brain.

Suddenly, she felt someone's presence in her mind and she looked up to see Finley staring at her intensely. Clarisse didn't even know why, but she let him slip through her weak barriers. Maybe she didn't have the strength to fight? Maybe she simply didn't care enough to stop him.

After a moment, he broke the eye contact and shook his head.

"I'll go with her," he said, surprising everyone once again. "I know nothing about Ancient Greek, so I'm not going to be of any help as well. I'll put her to bed and I'll come back."

"Do it," Clarisse's boss ordered in a stern tone, not letting her speak.

"But..." she tried to protest, but no one wanted to listen to her.

"That's final, Clarisse. I won't let you work in that state. It's not only dangerous for our case, but mostly for  _you_." Deschamps clearly had no intentions of changing his mind, so she scowled and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, anger boiling within her body.

"Come on," Finley muttered and grabbed her elbow, forcing her to stand.

"I'm not disabled," she hissed and pulled her limb out of his grasp.

She stormed out of the room, not bothering to say her goodbyes. People described her as mean, stubborn and sometimes a bit arrogant. Even still, they never called her  _stupid_. Clarisse had a reason to show up at work. Why couldn't they respect that?!

"Stop acting like a child." Finley's voice reached her ears and she stopped abruptly, causing him to almost bump into her.

"I'm not. I just can't go back home!"

"Because of the nightmares?" he asked, his tone quiet and she looked away, shame visible on her face.

"Why do you even care?"

Aedan snorted and shook his head with amusement.

"I said I didn't think women are tough enough to work as Aurors. Forgive me for saying this, but the way you're behaving right now seems to prove my point," he said and sighed loudly. "I never said that I don't have a heart though. I don't get off from someone else's misfortune."

Okay, that was  _shocking_. She honestly didn't think that the man standing in front of her even had a heart. He called her names, he kept mocking her every chance he got, he... He was simply infuriating. What was he playing at?

"Funny thing, it certainly seemed so," she scoffed and crossed her arms at her chest. "After all the nasty stuff you've said to me, I'm surprised that you even know what it's like to act  _decent._ "

"Clarisse, shall I remind you that you returned the favour completely?" he asked and quirked his eyebrow. "You're equally nasty and I still think you're a hag. It doesn't mean I enjoy your suffering."

She was sure that if it hadn't been for her lack of sleep, she would have found something clever to say in response. But, unfortunately, her mind refused to cooperate, so she stood there in silence, avoiding his gaze completely.

"Come on. We can talk once we're at your house," Aedan finally broke the silence and placed his hand on her shoulder, pushing her to go forward.

At that exact moment, Jacques appeared at the corridor with Mr Leighton walking right next to him. Clarisse didn't need to be well rested to see, that her friend looked completely baffled by her sudden proximity to Finley, after she had spent hours bitching about him.

She didn't even know why she felt so ashamed by this entire situation. It wasn't like Finley had done something  _intimate._ He had just pushed her forward. Besides, even if he did something intimate, why should she be worried about it? Jacques was only her friend, nothing more. That one single moment of weakness they shared didn't prove a thing.

"Riss!" her friend greeted her with a weird smile. "What are you doing here?"

It didn't escape her attention that he forgot to acknowledge Finley's presence and the Irishman seemed equally disturbed by it.

"Um... I'm not feeling well. I think I'm coming down with something," she lied through her teeth and forced a smile, hoping that Finley would keep his mouth shut.

"You don't look so well, Auror Bouchard. You should take better care of yourself," Leighton spoke up and Finley looked at her completely surprised. Oh, that's right. He didn't know about their previous encounter.

"Mr Leighton, I suppose?" he said with a smile, extending his hand towards the new comer. "Auror Aedan Finley."

"Oh, you're a professor, aren't you? Students talk a lot when they come to Hogsmeade!"

"Yes. Although I'm not a very good one recently. Too many things of greater importance to be dealt with," he smiled and looked at Clarisse out of the corner of his eye. "Speaking of which, we have to go."

Riss felt the urge to blush, as she stared at the corridor behind them with stubbornness. She didn't need to look at Jacques to know that he was eyeing her with suspicion, just as she knew that both Aedan and her friend wanted to establish some kind of dominance over her.

Merlin, how she hated working with men sometimes...

"Yep, I'm going," she muttered and stormed off, not waiting for any of them to go after her.

"Get well, Auror Bouchard! I'm looking forward to working with you!" Leighton's words reached her ears, but she was too busy to answer.

She had to get away from them. As fast as possible.

* * *

 

Her house greeted her with nothing, but silence. She was surprised that she had decided to come here, even after she told Finley that it wasn't an option. Maybe finding herself in a quiet place was all she needed?

Still, something about that peaceful place seemed weird. Was it even possible, that those few nights filled with nothing but nightmares had forced her to completely change her view of her own house? She should feel safe here, shouldn't she?

Clarisse took a few steps forward towards her small coffee table, which was completely covered by various books and papers. She sat down on the couch, letting her eyes roam over the tittles absentmindedly, while her tired brain worked hard not to fall asleep.

How long could she keep doing it? Maybe facing her mother wouldn't be so bad, after all? Eugenia loved her, even if she had never appreciated her life choices. She wouldn't leave her without help, that one was sure. But what if she simply wouldn't be able to help her? What if Clarisse was destined to have these nightmares till the day she died?

Suddenly, she heard a knock on her door and she jumped to her feet, clutching her wand with desperation. A moment later, Finley walked into the room, not waiting for her to answer the door, making her baffled and irritated at the same time.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, still pointing her wand in his direction.

"I told everyone that I was going to walk you home. I don't want to get fired, because you ran off like a psycho."

She  _didn't_. She just had had enough of that stupid conversation. There was nothing wrong with that.

"I had to run off. Jacques happens to be my best friend. He knows about my... problems. He wouldn't be happy that I'm still having them," she muttered and finally lowered her wand.

"I presume he told you to see someone about them?"

"He might have," she admitted reluctantly and plopped down on the couch once more. "It's just not that simple."

"Yeah, right. It's probably much more difficult than forcing yourself to stay awake for three days straight," Aedan mocked her and she offered him a glare in response. "What are you, stupid? Do you want to kill yourself?"

"Right now? Yeah. At least I wouldn't have to listen to you  _smothering me,_ " she replied and closed her eyes with annoyance, only to snap them open a second later.

She was too tired to even blink without risking falling asleep.

"Clarisse..." His sigh sounded in the room and he walked up to her, crouching down to face her. "Go to sleep."

"What for? I'm going to have another nightmare and I'll wake up after an hour or two, even more tired than before. Been there, done that. There's no point in even trying," she answered and shook her head.

"There's always a point in trying."

"Oh, look at you, so wise and mature," she scoffed, making him irritated as hell, judging by the sudden tension in his jaw. "You don't know what's it like."

"Are you seriously this stupid? I've had nightmares before, you know? But I sure as hell didn't torture myself because of it."

"Staying awake is  _not_ a torture. Reliving that same dream over and over  _is_."

"Then take a Sleeping Draught!"

"It's not working!" she exclaimed and rubbed her forehead frantically. "Don't you think I would have tried that as soon as the nightmares started?!"

Aedan fell silent for a moment and then placed his hand on her knee, forcing her to look at him with suspicion.

"I used to have a lot of nightmares. I dreamt of my father's death, I dreamt about all those monsters he had to face on daily basis. My father always told me to toughen up, to clench my teeth and simply survive, but it wasn't simple for a ten year old kid to do that," he said quietly, while Clarisse kept looking at him, completely baffled. "My mother, though... She was always there for me. She used to hold me through the entire night, making sure I was okay. It was stupid, but I actually believed that as long as I was lying in her arms, nothing could have hurt me."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked after a moment of silence and Aedan averted his gaze, slightly ashamed.

"Because you don't have to be alone today. I can stay with you. Maybe it will help you, just as it helped me."

She almost laughed at his statement, but he was completely serious. Clarisse actually found herself at loss for words, not knowing what to do about his offer. Was he even that same person that walked into her house? Because the man she had known didn't act so tenderly and... caring. 

"Aedan... Are you alright?" she managed to choke out after few minutes of silence and he sighed, getting up from his crouched position.

"You know what? Forget it. Just go to sleep. Nightmares or no nightmares, you're in no shape to work," he said and started to walk towards the door.

"Wait!" she muttered, before she could have thought it through.

He stopped in the middle of her living room and turned around, his face tense from the anticipation. Clarisse felt her cheeks heat up and she averted her gaze towards the coffee table.

"Stay. I'm probably barking mad, but stay."

"Yeah. You're not the only one who's mad..."

An awkward silence filled the room and Clarisse felt the need to escape it as fast as possible. She stood up, making sure to move slowly as though she didn't feel so freaked out and looked at him with a crooked smile.

"Um... I'm going to take a shower. Make yourself comfortable, I guess," she said and turned around, walking away towards the bathroom.

The shower did nothing to soothe her raging heart. Why on Merlin's pants did she agree to something so ridiculous?! She wasn't a child, she didn't need someone in her bed to scare away the monsters living in her closet. Sharing her bed with anyone felt  _intimate_  and she was sure as hell that she didn't want to get intimate with Finley.

"What the fuck, Riss?" she muttered to herself, while the water kept streaming down her naked body.

It must have been sleep deprivation. That was the only logical explanation, considering the fact that earlier that day, she had asked Harry Potter if he had really killed Voldemort. She was out of her mind and she needed to get it back. Fast.

Clarisse walked out of her bathroom and found Finley lying on her bed, his Auror robes draped over a chair right next to the wall. His shoes, socks and jacket were gone, making him dressed in nothing, but a plain, white t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. He was reading a book –one he must have found on her coffee table- and didn't even notice her arrival at first. Or at least so she thought.

"Never took you for a romance lover," he said with amusement and looked up, his gaze sliding over her figure.

"I'm not. Why the hell are you in my bed?" she asked, as soon as she had realised that he was indeed lying among her precious, clean sheets, disgracing her favourite place in this entire house.

What did he expect her to do? Walk up to him and crawl into the bed with him  _in it?_  He had to be kidding her.

"Where else would I be?" Finley's voice was calm, amused even and Clarisse decided that she had gone completely mental for even considering his proposition.

"Um... On the chair? Or, even better, on the floor?"

"That's not going to happen," he snorted and closed the book. "You should be thankful that I offered to stay with you, I'm not going to sleep on the floor, for fuck's sake."

"It's the middle of the day. Why do you have to sleep at all?" she whined and closed her eyes with despair, which had to look incredibly stupid.

"Going back and forth between Scotland and France isn't exactly healthy, you know? You're not the only tired person in the world. And now, could you please stop bitching about everything and come here?"

Clarisse really wanted to just back out of this entire situation, but she had agreed to do this for a reason. Or at least, there must have been a reason, which her fuzzy mind had already forgotten. Still, something was telling her that Finley's presence might actually be helpful. Was that  _weird something_ connected to her newly found, shitty skills? Hell if she knew.

Nonetheless, a second later she crawled into the bed, covering herself with her soft sheets. Finley tensed for a moment and then wrapped his arm around her silhouette, bringing her closer to his body. At first, Clarisse started wiggle in his embrace, trying to get as far away as possible, but he held her close to his body without even a sign of exertion on his face.

"Stop wriggling like a fish and go to sleep!" he finally said, forcing her to steady. "I'm not going to feel you up or do anything you might not like!"

"Well, you're  _touching me_  and I  _don't like it_ ," she said and forced him to sigh in annoyance.

"Deal with it, Clarisse. I don't think this is going to work if we're not touching."

"Why?"

"I have no bloody idea. My mother claimed that nightmares can overpower one person, but two is a handful," he explained and released his hold of her, probably expecting her to move, but she stayed in her spot.

"So, you need to hold me because of something your mother said when you were a child?"

"Yes."

Clarisse sighed and shook her head, deciding that she didn't have the strength to argue with him anymore. It was utterly ridiculous, but at least he smelled nice. She could survive the night and never speak of it again, couldn't she?

"This is so, so awkward," she muttered into his shirt and felt his chest shake with a quiet laughter.

"Shut up and sleep. We're going to get back to our normal selves later."

"We better."

_Or else being a Seer won't be the craziest thing in my life_ , she thought to herself and closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep. 


	10. The Fight

Her mother's house was stunning. Located in the heart of Paris, it could be described as one of those buildings that made Muggles gasp in awe. Or at least, it would, if it wasn't invisible to them. Its white walls, decorated with a lot of various sculptures and reliefs always reminded her of her family's wealth, something that was a blessing and a curse at the same time.

Clarisse loved that house, there was no denying that fact. Most of her happy memories of childhood were connected to that place and its various attractions. As an old building, it held many mysteries, which proved to be a dream come true for a little girl, who had always been too curious for her own good.

She remembered all those times, when she had played hide and seek with her father. It used to be her favourite game, as it made her tingle with excitement every single time she had tried to find a hiding spot good enough to trick her old man. It made her so proud to know that he was having more and more troubles finding her in that massive house. Back then, that feeling had been everything she wanted.

Things had changed too much since then. Her father's face became nothing, but a blurry image in her memories, getting more and more vague with every passing day. She tried not to think about it, but she feared the day when it would become completely invisible. Her father was that one person, who was always there for her, protecting her from all the madness coming from her mother. Clarisse admired him and had always wanted to be just like him, to be an Auror and to make him even more proud of his little girl.

So many years later, she still wanted to make him proud, but she doubted he cared, wherever he was. Nobody knew whether he had even been alive, but she doubted that as well. Kylian Bouchard loved his family, he would have never simply  _left_ them behind and that meant he had to be dead.

Clarisse came to peace with that knowledge a long time ago, but seeing her house always reminded her of the possibility that he was still alive somewhere and it made her uneasy. She didn't need a constant reminder of that, but what other choice did she have? She couldn't avoid that place forever, especially with those nightmares haunting her every night. Besides, her mother would  _kill_ her if she refused to ever come home.

With a sigh, Clarisse crossed the street and climbed the stairs, leading to the house. When she grabbed the golden handle, all of the hesitation was gone from her face. She had already used all of the possible solutions to her problems and while  _one of them_ worked, she certainly wasn't going to make another mistake like  _that one_.

What on Merlin's pants was she thinking? Considering the fact that she was about to walk into her mother's house and announce that she might have been a  _Seer_ or something equally ridiculous proved that she was a bit nuts. But to let Aedan Finley  _sleep in her bed?_  She hated that bloody git! What the hell was wrong with her sleep-deprived brain?!

What made things even worse, was the fact that it  _worked_. That ridiculous, pointless and completely messed up idea  _worked_. She woke up rested and satisfied and completely baffled with the scent of her pillow. Her pillow had never smelled like a  _man_ before and that concerned her for a moment, until she had remembered that stupid decision and her concern turned into shame and fury.

She had no idea how she was supposed to face him after what happened and she had absolute certainty that their next meeting was going to be  _terrible_. But there was also a good consequence of her mistake. It had gotten her to go and see her mother, because she really didn't fancy the idea of letting Finley into her bed  _ever again_.

The house was filled with silence, but it didn't startle her at all. Her mother hated noises, as she claimed that they disrupted her focus. It seemed weird to everyone, but Clarisse had actually gotten used to the silence pretty easily. Out of all the weird things coming from her mother's views, this one was almost bearable.

"Mother?" she asked, as soon as she had closed the door behind her and walked into the vast living room.

After what seemed like eternity, Eugenia Bouchard walked down the stairs with a completely surprised look on her face.

"Clarie? What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," she answered, not wanting to make this visit longer than necessary, but her mother clearly didn't appreciate her efforts.

"Please, don't tell me it's about that book again."

Clarisse rolled her eyes and sighed. Well, it wasn't, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that this damned book had been in the centre of action. They still didn't know what it said, but Mr Leighton worked on it since the day before and, according to Jacques, he seemed completely mesmerised by it.

"No, mom. It's about something else," she said and sat down on the couch, biting the inside of her cheek.

Eugenia stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at her daughter carefully. Something in that gaze made Riss incredibly uneasy, so she shifted on the couch and scratched her head, while her mother smiled with satisfaction.

"You're ready to admit that you were wrong, aren't you?" she stated cheerfully and Clarisse supressed the urge to moan in despair.

Of course, she should have known that her mother would figure things out even before she had managed to start explaining. That was so like her, after all.

"I have no idea, that's the thing," Clarisse answered, not wanting to give her all the satisfaction. "All I know is that I'm having those nightmares and I can't seem to get rid of them."

"Splendid!" Her mother clapped her hands and smiled brilliantly, making Riss open her mouth with disbelief.

" _Splendid?!_ I'm barely sleeping! How is that any good?!"

"You don't look so tired, Clarie," her mother noticed, forcing Clarisse to blush like a child.

Why would she look  _tired_  after spending the night in Finley's arms? Wasn't he everything she had ever wanted? The Auror wanted to grit her teeth at her own, ironic thoughts. Even in her head, those things sounded absolutely ridiculous and there was no way  _in hell_ that she was going to tell that to her mother.

"Yes, well, my body decided that it can't stand another insomniac night. I basically passed out in work and slept for a whole day," she lied and rolled her eyes at her mother's obvious doubt.

"You're lying."

"Am not! Why do you always have to assume that?"

"Because you are your father's daughter." Her mother's voice was quiet and filled with melancholy that instantly made Riss feel like trash.

She hated that bloody tone, because it was one of those things, which her mother used against her in every difficult, tense situation. Including this one  _now._

"Why does it even matter, mom?" she finally sighed and rubbed her temple. "I came to you for help, not for an interrogation. I have enough of that on daily basis."

Eugenia fell silent and after a minute, she joined her on the couch with a serious expression.

"What do those nightmares look like?" she asked quietly and Clarisse closed her eyes, letting her mind drift off to those familiar scenes.

"They are always the same. I walk through a thick mist, that refuses to dissipate for a while and then, it suddenly disappears, leaving me on a square, surrounded by those churches."

"What churches?"

"Crime scenes. Every crime has happened in front of a church," Riss explained and her mother frowned with worry.

"What happens next?"

"The door open and those shadowy figures walk out of the churches, as I drop down to my knees, suffocating. A wave of nausea hits me and I struggle for breath."

"And?"

"And then I wake up."

Her mother nodded and smiled cheerfully.

"Do you want some wine?"

Clarisse expected a lot of things, but this? Um, no.

"Are you serious?"

"Why, yes, of course! We have a long talk ahead of us and I hate talking without something to drink." Eugenia's voice was light and airy, making her daughter even more annoyed.

She didn't have time for this. Her work was waiting for her and she needed to get back to it  _soon_. Certainly, her mother had to understand it.

"Mom, I just need you to tell me how to make them stop," the Auror said making the older woman scowl.

"It's not so simple, Claire. It takes a lot of practice to learn to control your dreams. Every Seer needs to understand that."

"Well, I'm not every Seer, mom," Riss sighed and shook her head. "You know that I need to sleep in order to do my job properly."

"You need a lot more than that, Clarie." Her mother's voice made shivers run down her spine; it was quiet and low, almost threateningly so.

"What do you mean?"

Her mother sighed and reached towards her neck, startling her at first, but when she took out the Merlinite from underneath her shirt, Clarisse frowned slightly.

"I wasn't sure if you decided to wear it. I thought it would take less time to make you come here," Eugenia said and Riss blinked a couple of times, trying to understand her words fully.

What was she trying to say, huh?

"You told me to wear it," she muttered and her mother smiled proudly.

"Of course I did. How else could I get you to acknowledge you heritage?"

"Wait, what?"

"That stone was supposed to make you discover your abilities. You've spent your entire life supressing them and I couldn't let you do that anymore. I knew that you weren't going to drop that horrible case, so I needed to make sure that you will be ready for what's coming your way."

Clarisse wanted to scream. Literally. All that talk about her mother being gentle and loving, unable to  _hurt_ her own daughter... Well, apparently it had all been a joke. A stupid, terrible joke.

"Please, don't tell me that I've spent the last week torturing myself, because you decidedto force me into something I clearly don't want," she gritted through her clenched teeth and her mother shot her an offended look.

"Clarie, don't you understand? You  _need_ it, whether you want it or not. There is no other way around it."

"Why don't you let  _me_ decide on that, mother?!" Riss stood up rapidly, unable to contain her anger. "Just once, for fuck's sake! You've always despised me for making my own choices, claiming that only the future  _you've_  planned out for me is worth anything. You've never supported me and you don't give a shit about my actual life! All you care about is to make me acknowledge something that has always been a curse to me! Do you hear me?! A  _curse_ , mother!"

She didn't care if the entire neighbourhood had heard her, even with all those spells cast upon the house. Suddenly, it didn't really matter that she had spent years trying to stifle all those emotions deep inside her heart, not letting them escape.

That one single thing made her blind with rage. It summed her life so perfectly that Clarisse really didn't have the strength to stay civil. She was done with feeling unloved, she was done with feeling guilty for not being the  _perfect daughter_ , but, most importantly, she was done acting like a stone wall unable to feel anything.

"No matter what I do, I'm never good enough," she whispered, sounding completely broken. "Not to you. The only way to change it, would be to forget about my own dreams and goals, to admit defeat. To everyone, I'm worth  _something,_ but to you? No. I'm just that daughter, who needs to change, who needs to do something, who needs..." she broke off and shook her head, when tears started to gather in the corner of her eyes.

She hadn't cried for years, since her father's disappearance. Tears were completely useless, after all. They didn't fix things, they didn't make the pain go away. They were a waste of time and Clarisse hated wasting her time.

"I don't need a Seer in my life. I never needed one. What I needed, was  _a mother_. And guess what, I never got that. Just as you didn't get a daughter, who wants to listen to all that crap," the Auror said after a short while and looked at her mother, who sat on the couch completely still and shocked. "You can say that I'm blind, that I'm making a mistake, but you should really look at yourself in the mirror and think about your own actions. Because tricking your daughter into wearing a necklace that made her life a living hell doesn't qualify as a good deed."

Silence enveloped the room once more and Clarisse realised how uncomfortable it must have been for all the visitors. She could hear her own raging heartbeat, her mother's shaky breath and nothing else. Her mother had even silenced the  _clock_.

"Clarie... I was doing everything for your own good," her mother whispered after what seemed like an eternity. "There are things that you simply cannot ignore, you have to learn to control them, before they start to control you."

"The only thing that's controlling me is  _you_ ," she answered and unclenched her fists, letting the blood rush to her palms, making them hurt all over. "If I take that damned necklace off, will the nightmares end?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then I don't want it," she interrupted and almost ripped the Merlinite off her neck. "Take it and give it to someone, who actually appreciates your  _meddling_."

With that, she spun around and left the house without the intention of ever going back.


End file.
